FRANCES  .POWELL 


THE   PRISONER   OF 
ORNITH   FARM 


THE  PRISONER  OF 
ORNITH  FARM 


BY 

FRANCES   POWELL 

AUTHOE  OF  "THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HUDSON" 


"Ne  faites  jamais  couler  les  larmes,  Dieu  les  compte." 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER^S    SONS 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNEE'S  SONS 

Published,  March,  1906 


MINTING  AND  BOOKBINOINQ  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE  PRISONER  OF 
ORNITH   FARM 


THE  PRISONER  OF  ORNITH 
FARM 


"An'  that's  the  end  of  the  story,"  said  my  nurse 
in  her  comfortable  voice,  "an'  it's  glad  I  am  that  little 
Prosherpina  got  safe  home  to  her  poor  mither !  Now, 
my  lammie,  do  you  run  about  a  bit.  You've  sat  long 
enough  for  one  while." 

We  were  seated  close  under  an  old  stone  wall,  Katie 
and  I,  on  the  broad  stretch  of  grass  that  bordered  one 
side  of  the  country  road.  On  the  other  side  was  more 
grass,  then  flat  gray  rocks,  and  below  these  a  curving 
beach  of  cobblestones.  The  little  waves  plashed  so 
softly  upon  the  rough  shore,  they  but  made  a  rhythmic 
accompaniment  to  Katie's  pleasant  voice;  and  while 
I  watched  them  I  could  almost  believe  that  I  saw 
Proserpina's  friends,  the  sea-nymphs,  peeping  up  at 
me  from  beneath  the  clear  green  water. 

Then  I  fell  to  thinking  of  my  mother.  Had  shb 
seen  the  mermaids?  Had  she  stayed  with  them 
awhile  before  going  to  heaven?  For  the  fate  of 
many  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  had  befallen 
my  bright  young  mother.  The  yacht — Mary's  Hope 
— upon  which  she  and  my  father  had  set  sail  for  the 
West  Indies,  four  years  before,  had  never  been  heard 
from.  The  Hope,  one  of  the  life-boats  of  the  doomed 
vessel,  had  found  its  way  ashore.  But  it  came  alone, 
and  empty ;  so  told  no  story,  save  the  pitiful  one  of 
shipwreck. 

1 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORKETH   FARM 

Hope  was  my  mother's  pet  name  for  me,  since  she, 
too,  was  a  Mary,  and  had  no  wish  to  give  up  her  name 
even  to  her  little  daughter.  And  I,  of  course,  had  to 
be  christened  Mary.  There  had  always  been  a  Mary 
Carmichael  ever  since  the  first  had  been  chosen  by 
the  Queen  as  one  of  her  four  Maries. 

"  There  was  Mary  Beaton,  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael " 

So  runs  the  old  ballad  in  which  we  Carmichaels 
believe. 

I  looked  wistfully  at  the  sea — was  I  wrong  to  love 
it  when  it  had  treated  my  parents  so  cruelly?  Be- 
cause of  their  fate  I  might  never  bathe  in  its  cool 
green  waves,  or  sail  upon  its  shimmering  blue  sur- 
face. Aunt  Caro  said  that  the  sea  would  bring  me 
misfortune.  A  great  fortune-teller,  a  gypsy,  had 
bidden  her  guard  me  from  it  until  after  I  had  passed 
my  twenty-first  birthday.  After  that  there  would  be 
no  danger,  but  before ? 

Aunt  Caro's  guardianship  ceased  when  I  should 
become  eighteen,  since  then  I  was  to  marry  Max 
Errol.  This  arrangement  had  been  made  by  my 
father  and  Mr.  Errol  when  I  was  born.  If  Max  or 
I  objected,  when  the  time  came  (when  I  should  be 
eighteen  and  he  twenty-five),  we  might  break  the 
agreement.  The  two  fathers  were  close  friends,  and 
their  lands — on  the  Hudson — "marched,"  as  the 
Scotch  say;  so  their  wish  was  perhaps  but  natural. 

My  aunt,  widow  of  my  father's  only  brother,  took 
her  duties  as  guardian  very  lightly;  as,  indeed,  she 
took  everything,  from  the  bringing  up  of  her  four 
boys,  my  cousins,  to  the  ordering  of  her  household. 
She  was  a  handsome,  dark-eyed  creature,  liking  to 
see  all  those  about  her  comfortable  and  happy — if  she 
were  not  obliged  to  bestir  herself  in  order  to  accom- 
plish this.  She  gave  us  all  our  own  way,  and  when 

2 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

her  sons  took  undue  advantage  of  their  freedom  she 
shed  a  few  placid  tears,  and  told  them  not  to  forget 
that  she  was  a  widow. 

"Your  dear  father  thought  you  would  take  care  of 
me,"  she  would  say  in  plaintive  remonstrance,  "but 
I  don't  see  how  you  can,  if  you  grow  up  reckless  and 
imprudent !" 

As  they  were  really  good  boys  they  seldom  let  their 
wild  spirits  carry  them  too  far.  They  felt  responsible 
for  their  mother's  comfort;  she  was  so  amiable — so 
helpless. 

"So  selfish!"  Katie  grumbled,  under  her  breath. 
But  this  I  set  down  to  Katie's  jealousy.  For  gentle 
as  was  my  aunt's  authority  Katie  resented  it,  she 
having  been  my  mother's  nurse  before  she  was  mine. 

I  adored  my  handsome  aunt.  I  liked  the  way  in 
which  she  treated  me,  always  talking  to  me  as  if  I 
were  grown  up.  She  gave  me  all  I  asked  for — save 
only  a  bathing-suit  and  a  boat.  And  we  were  by  the 
salt  water  so  much!  Aunt  Caro — a  New  England 
woman  by  birth — loved  the  New  England  coast. 
Every  summer  our  stay  by  the  sea  grew  longer ;  and 
every  summer  my  desire  to  bathe  in  it,  and  sail  upon 
it,  grew  more  intense. 

On  that  particular  afternoon,  in  late  September, 
eighteen  hundred  and  seventy,  I  had  a  great  long- 
ing to  be  in  one  of  the  white-sailed  boats  off  shore. 
Aunt  Caro,  with  the  boys,  was  out  sailing.  How- 
ever, I  was  to  be  eight  years  old  to-morrow,  I  said 
to  myself,  striving  for  consolation,  and  eight  from 
twenty-one  left — how  much  ?  Why  was  it  that  read- 
ing was  such  an  easy  matter,  and  arithmetic  an  im- 
possibility ?  When  I  was  twenty-one  I  would  bathe 
all  the  morning  and  sail  all  the  afternoon ;  and  Katie, 
poor  Katie,  who  now  must  always  stay  ashore  because 
of  me,  should  bathe  and  sail  too. 

I  looked  with  great  affection  into  the  strong  face 
3 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

of  my  dear  nurse ;  then  wondered,  for  the  hundredth 
time,  why  she  would  strain  her  hair  back  so  tightly 
from  her  forehead.  Every  hair  seemed  in  danger 
of  snapping.  Should  I  speak  to  her  of  the  future 
joys  in  wait  for  us,  upon  my  twenty-first  birthday? 
But  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  volume  in  her  lap,  and  I 
forgot  the  sea.  It  was  a  blue  book,  with  gilt  letter- 
ing: "Tanglewood  Tales."  I  read  the  title  lovingly. 
I  knew  all  the  tales  by  heart.  Sometimes  Katie  read 
them  to  me,  sometimes  I  read  them  to  myself.  For 
two  years  I  had  read  easily.  I  felt  very  old ;  I  should 
be  eight  on  the  morrow!  How  old  was  Proserpina 
when  Pluto  had  carried  her  away  from  her  mother, 
from  the  kind  sea-nymphs,  from  the  flowers  and  the 
sunshine?  It  must  have  been  so  very  awful,  that 
descent  underground ! 

I  stood  up  and  looked  across  the  low  stone  wall 
into  the  meadow  behind  us ;  a  wide-spreading  meadow, 
with  a  grove  of  dark  pines  in  a  distant  corner.  On 
its  farther  side — it  seemed  very  far  away — tall  spears 
of  golden-rod,  growing  in  a  clump,  were  swaying  to 
and  fro  in  the  sea-breeze.  They  looked  very  splendid. 
The  sun,  hanging  low  in  the  west,  sent  glowing  shafts 
of  light  through  the  masses  of  yellow  bloom,  turning 
them  into  burnished  gold.  Never  had  I  seen  golden- 
rod  so  magnificent.  I  thought  of  the  gorgeous  flower 
that  had  tempted  Proserpina  away  from  her  com- 
panions. I  climbed  over  the  wall. 

"Don't  go  far,  my  lam',"  warned  Katie,  who  was 
knitting  busily,  "keep  near  hand  the  fence."  And 
she  fell  to  counting  her  stitches,  "One — two — 
three " 

I  did  not  answer.  I  intended  to  disobey.  I  wanted 
the  golden-rod ;  it  seemed  as  if  it  nodded  to  me  from 
the  distance.  I  walked  slowly  toward  it.  If  only 
it  did  not  grow  so  near  that  dark  mass  of  pines! 
Then,  looking  in  wonder  at  the  beauty  of  the  stately 

4 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

golden  shafts,  I  forgot  to  be  afraid.  Was  the  plant 
enchanted?  If  I  were  to  put  my  arms  about  its 
three  tall  spears  and  pull,  what  would  follow  ?  How 
foolish  I  was !  Eight  years  old  to-morrow,  and  pre- 
tending  

But  what  if  the  earth  were  to  crumble  away,  and 
the  hole  grew  larger  and  larger,  and  deeper  and 
deeper,  and 

I  gave  a  great  tug,  expecting  strong  resistance  from 
deeply  embedded,  close-clinging  roots.  Instead,  they 
came  away  with  such  ease  that,  having  braced  myself 
to  encounter  opposition,  I  lost  my  balance,  staggered 
back,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  some  one  deftly 
caught  me  just  in  time. 

"Pluto !"  I  gasped  in  childish  terror,  as  I  glanced 
quickly  up  into  the  strange  face  bent  close  over  mine. 

"Pluto  ?"  a  rather  harsh  voice  repeated  inquiringly, 
as  the  owner  of  the  face — a  tall,  powerfully  built  man 
— set  me  gently  upon  my  feet,  and  looked  at  me  with 
amused  interest.  "Ah,"  as  his  keen  gray  eyes  noted 
the  sprays  of  golden-rod  that  I  still  held  tightly  to 
my  breast,  "I  understand!  I  have  often  heard  of 
the  beautiful  Persephone,  and  of  what  befell  her  when 
she  was  gathering  flowers.  I  only  wish  that  I  were 
Pluto,  lovely  child,  and  that  I  had  all  the  gold  and 
silver  mines  in  the  country  at  my  disposal." 

He  thrust  his  hands  deep  down  into  his  pockets 
and  stared  at  me  moodily.  I  examined  him  with 
half-frightened  curiosity.  I  wished  that  I  had  been 
good,  and  remained  near  my  nurse.  The  stranger 
must  have  been  carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  have 
dropped  it  when  he  caught  me,  for  he  was  bare-headed. 
He  had  very  thick  brown  hair — much  ruffled  by 
the  breeze — a  brown  mustache,  and  a  long  slightly 
aquiline  nose.  His  light  gray  eyes  had  an  odd 
greenish  glint  in  them  as  he  watched  me.  Thinking 
me  still  afraid,  he  smiled.  His  teeth  were  very  white 

5 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

and  gleaming.  I  forgot  about  Pluto;  my  mind  was 
suddenly  flooded  with  memories  of  Red  Riding  Hood. 
Then  shame  at  my  own  foolish  imaginings  banished 
fear.  What  would  the  boys  say  did  they  know  I  had 
been  so  silly  ?  I  drew  myself  up  haughtily,  vowing 
that  they  should  never  know.  I  must  say  good- 
bye to  this  stranger  politely;  he  had  meant  to  be 
kind. 

"I  thank  you  for  catching  me,"  I  said  gravely.  "I 
did  not  know  that  golden-rod  had  such  weak  roots. 
Good-bye." 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  him ;  he  took  it  in  both  his 
own.  "Good-bye,  little  Proserpina,"  he  said. 

I  blushed,  mortified  that  he  had  fathomed  my  folly. 
I  shook  my  head.  "I  am  not  Proserpina" — I  made 
the  announcement  seriously,  I  dreaded  being  laughed 
at— "I  am  Hope." 

A  deep  flush  swept  across  the  stranger's  tanned 
face,  his  eyes  flashed,  he  stooped,  and  looked  as  if 
he  intended  to  kiss  me ;  then,  reading  my  unwilling- 
ness in  my  eyes,  stood  erect  as  before  as  he  said :  "If 
you  are  Hope,  I  refuse  to  say  good-bye!" 

At  this  juncture  we  were  joined  by  Katie,  who, 
very  indignant  with  me,  yet  not  wishing  to  scold 
and  so  betray  my  evil-doing  to  a  strange  gentleman, 
was  too  much  flustered  by  contradictory  emotions  to 
do  aught  but  bow  stiffly  to  my  companion  and  throw 
meaning  looks  at  me.  She  laid  a  stern  hand  upon 
my  shoulder  and  began  to  put  on  my  coat. 

"September's  no  summer,  sir,"  she  said  at  last,  in 
solemn  tones,  "an'  though  the  child  was  better  wantin' 
her  jacket  an  hour  gone — for  the  day's  been  as  mid- 
summer, so  hot  even — it's  growin'  chill  now,  an'  the 
sun  will  be  sinking  soon." 

"Hope  carries  the  sunshine  with  her,"  said  the 
stranger,  smiling  down  upon  me,  "since  she  is 
crowned  with  it."  He  glanced  admiringly  at  my 

6 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

hair  that,  cut  short  to  please  me,  curled  in  tight  rings 
all  over  my  small  head.  "Hope  is  beautiful,"  he 
added,  as  if  but  announcing  a  well-known  fact. 

I  did  not  know  if  he  spoke  of  hope  the  sentiment 
or  of  me.  Katie,  however,  received  the  remark  as  a 
compliment. 

"Pretty  is  as  pretty  does,"  was  the  severe  response, 
"an'  it's  far  better  to  be  good  than  pretty." 

This  awful  allusion  to  my  past  misdeeds  I  thought 
unfair,  and  I  was  glad  that  the  stranger,  even  while 
he  listened  politely,  still  looked  at  me  as  if  he  thought 
me  a  nice  child.  Presently  he  began  to  talk  to  Katie 
and,  to  my  great  surprise,  she  responded  to  his  ad- 
vances at  once.  Before  many  minutes  had  passed, 
she  chatted  with  my  new  acquaintance  as  though  he 
were  an  old  friend.  Katie,  who  was  ordinarily  called 
close-mouthed !  She  told  everything  concerning  me. 
In  a  few  moments  the  stranger  had  heard  of  the  sad 
death  of  my  parents,  of  my  betrothal  to  Max,  of  Aunt 
Caro  and  her  careless  ways,  and,  lastly,  of  the  infinite 
superiority  of  my  mother's  family. 

"Talk  of  the  ridin',  is  it  ?" — I  had  heard  no  ques- 
tion of  horsemanship — "why,  that  child,"  pointing 
a  proud  finger  at  me,  "can  show  the  Cannichaels  the 
way !  But  seven  the  day " 

"I  shall  be  eight  to-morrow,"  I  piped  shrilly,  in 
eager  interruption,  but  Katie  paid  no  heed. 

"Seven  the  day,"  she  repeated,  raising  her  voice 
to  drown  mine,  "yet  look  till  her!  As  well  bare- 
back as  in  the  saddle,  as  well  standin'  as  sittin',  and 
over  the  hurdles  wi'  the  best — an'  a  crumb  higher, 
a  piece  furder,  than  Wild  Will  himself!  Yes,  sir, 
an'  it's  in  the  blood.  Now  then,  my  lam',"  she  turned 
to  me,  "say  the  bit  piece  I  learned  you,  the  bit  verse 
your  grandpapa — an'  a  grand  jantleman  he  was,  too 
— used  to  say."  I  looked  at  her,  then  glanced  at  the 
flowers  I  still  held.  She  understood.  "Not  a  word, 

7 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

if  you'll  say  the  bit  piece — begin,  now !     Give  here 
the  flowers,  an'  act  it  out — singin'." 

Glad  to  escape  rebuke  for  my  sin  of  disobedience 
thus  easily,  I  gave  her  the  golden-rod  and  began  to 
sing — to  a  tune  of  my  own  making — this  doggerel: 

"One  white  foot — buy  a  horse; 
Two  white  feet — try  a  horse." 

I  ceased  singing  and  pretending  to  mount  an  ani- 
mal of  whose  good  points  I  was  doubtful,  put  the 
imaginary  steed  through  a  variety  of  paces,  then  took 
up  my  song  again: 

"Three  white  feet — look  well  about  him." 

I  puckered  my  brows,  lifted  each  foot  of  the  horse 
carefully,  passed  a  testing  hand  down  the  legs  as 
though  fearing  to  discover  spavin  or  other  defect,  and 
so  on  to  the  end. 

The  stranger  applauded,  apparently  as  much  as- 
tonished as  delighted.  Katie  beamed  with  pride. 

"Four  white  feet — go  without  him," 

I  sang  in  solemn  recitative;  then,  breaking  into  a 
lively  measure: 

"Four  white  feet,  and  a  white  nose — 
Cut  off  his  head  and  throw  him  to  the  crows." 

"An'  that's  the  way  we  say  it,"  said  Katie,  in  her 
odd  mixture  of  Scotch  and  Irish — an  inheritance 
from  Irish  father  and  Scotch  mother — "but  the  bairn 
knows  the  common  givin'  of  the  poetry.  Go  on,  my 
lam'." 

I  docilely  repeated  another  version  of  the  old 
belief : 

8 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"One  white  leg,  inspect  him; 
Two  white  legs,  reject  him; 
Three  white  legs,  sell  him  to  your  foes; 
Four  white  legs,  feed  him  to  the  crows!" 

"Not  but  what  that's  all  nonsense,"  I  said,  as, 
after  courtesying  my  thanks  for  the  praise  given  me, 
I  again  took  possession  of  my  golden-rod.  "Dexter's 
changed  all  that,  you  know.  Dexter  is  just  four  years 
older  than  me." 

"Tell  about  Dexter  now,"  coaxed  Katie,  taking  it 
for  granted  that  my  childish  accomplishments  must 
interest  this  outsider  as  much  as  they  did  her. 

I  looked  at  the  stranger  inquiringly.  Would  he 
think  me  a  chatter-box?  But  the  expression  in  his 
gray-green  eyes  gave  me  a  strong  desire  to  continue. 

"Dexter,"  I  went  on,  "was  born  and  bred  in  our 
county.  Sire,  Hambletonian ;  mother,  little  black 
mare,  daughter  of  American  Star."  (The  boys  saw 
to  it  that  I  should  not  hear — and  so  learn — the  rough 
parlance  of  stable  and  race-course.)  "Color,  rich 
brown;  four  white  feet,  and  a  blaze  in  the  face; 
fifteen  hands  and  an  inch  high — 'a  big-little  one.' 
He  won  in  his  first  race,  by  half  a  dozen  lengths, 
against " 

Here  loud  shouts  and  the  tooting  of  horns  from 
the  shore  told  us  that  the  sailing  party  had  returned, 
putting  an  end  to  my  recitations.  Katie  bade  me  say 
good-bye  to  the  stranger.  Moved  by  a  friendly  im- 
pulse— I  was  a  friendly  child — I  offered  him  a  sceptre 
of  golden-rod.  He  broke  off,  however,  but  one  of  its 
tiny  yellow  fronds,  and,  putting  this  carefully  away 
in  a  leathern  case  that  he  drew  from  his  breast  pocket, 
he  gave  me  in  return  a  small  hard  something,  folded 
in  a  bit  of  paper.  This  he  said  I  must  keep  until  he 
came  to  ask  it  back  again. 

"I  will  not  say  good-bye,"  he  spoke  very  gravely, 
"but  au  revoir.  I  cannot  say  good-bye — to  'Hope.' ' 

9 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

He  shook  hands  with  me,  bowed  civilly  to  Katie, 
and,  walking  quickly  to  the  grove  of  pines,  disap- 
peared in  its  black  depths. 

"Whatever  is  it,  my  lam'  ?"  asked  Katie,  scanning 
with  eager  curiosity  the  folded  paper  in  my  small 
palm. 

I  opened  it.  It  was  a  piece  of  an  English  coin — the 
half  of  a  broken  sixpence. 

"Give  it  me  quick,  then,"  said  my  nurse  in  great 
haste,  "till  I  run  till  him  wi'  it.  It'll  no  do,  takin' 
money  fra'  strangers.  An'  whativer  will  Mr.  Max 
say  ?  A  broken  saxpence !" 

But  I  held  the  bit  of  coin  fast.  "I  shall  keep  it," 
I  said  imperiously. 

"No,  no,"  pleaded  Katie,  "a  prisint  from  a  stranger, 
my  lafnmie,  a " 

I  interrupted  her.  "A  stranger  ?"  I  said.  "Why, 
Katie,  you  told  him  everything !" 

"So  I  did,  so  I  did,"  she  assented,  in  great  per- 
turbation, "an'  I'm  not  knowing  why!  He  had  a 
way  wi'  him — and  a  compelling  eye.  But,  quick, 
give  here  the  money,  my  child.  It's  not  for  a  Car- 
michael  to  be  given  charity,  like  a  beggar." 

"Nonsense!"  I  cried  indignantly.  "What  could  I 
buy  with  a  broken  sixpence?  I  shall  keep  it."  I 
backed  away  from  her,  putting  the  piece  of  coin  into 
my  small  pocket. 

Without  another  word  my  nurse  walked  away 
toward  the  road,  beside  which  we  had  sat,  at  a  great 
pace.  I  followed,  sorry  that  she  was  displeased,  re- 
gretting that  I  had  taken  my  own  way,  yet  oddly 
fascinated  by  my  new  possession.  Why  was  it  more 
important  to  Katie  because  it  happened  to  be  a  six- 
pence, I  wondered  ? 

Katie  climbed  over  the  wall  in  such  haste  that 
several  of  its  loosely  piled  stones  followed  her  in 
a  noisy  avalanche.  She  paid  no  heed,  but  continued 

10 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

her  way  toward  the  small  dock — a  mere  strip  of 
planking  upheld  by  iron  stanchions  forced  in  between 
the  rocks — where  Aunt  Caro  had  just  disembarked 
with  the  boys.  I  had  to  run  at  last  to  catch  up  with 
her. 

"Are  you  very  angry  with  me,  Katie?"  I  asked, 
looking  anxiously  up  into  her  stern  face. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  taking  my  hand  in  hers 
pressed  it  firmly — a  caressing  pressure — as  she  hur- 
ried along. 

The  boys  rushed  to  meet  us.  The  twins,  lads  of 
thirteen,  Wild  Will  and  Sam  the  Cool  (these  nick- 
names because  of  their  widely  differing  natures), 
came  first.  Between  them  they  carried  a  basket, 
heavy  with  fish,  the  spoils  of  the  day.  Dodging 
around  them,  giggling,  fisticuffing,  lashing  each  other 
with  long  banners  of  the  beautifully  ruffled  sea-weed, 
were  the  two  younger  boys,  nicknamed  respectively 
"Lord"  Ronald  and  "King"  Jamie.  Max  walked 
with  Aunt  Caro,  carrying  her  wraps. 

The  twins  set  their  basket  down  with  a  thump 
before  us.  Lord  Ronald  and  King  Jamie  instantly 
offered  me  their  sea-weed,  and  were  dismayed  to  find 
that  their  wild  use  of  it  had  damaged  its  beauty. 
Will's  quick  eye  noted  Katie's  wrathful  look. 

"Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladye?"  he  inquired. 
Then,  wringing  his  hands,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in 
a  howl  of  lamentation,  in  pretended  sympathy. 

"May  this  appease  the  angry  goddess,"  said  Sam 
smoothly,  as,  selecting  a  large  fish  from  the  basket, 
he  deposited  it,  with  an  air  of  abject  humility,  in  the 
dust  at  her  feet. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to,  Hope?"  asked  the 
younger  boys  in  an  excited  whisper,  draping  their 
sea-weed  across  my  shoulders. 

Here  Aunt  Caro,  with  Max,  coming  up,  Katie  her- 
self gratified  their  curiosity. 

11 


THE    PKISONEK   OF    OKNTTH   FARM 

"Mrs.  Carmichael,  ma'am,"  she  began  firmly,  "it's 
ashamed  of  myself  I  am." 

"Dear  me !"  ejaculated  Aunt  Caro,  looking  fright- 
ened, "what  has  happened,  Katie  2" 

"I  met  a  stranger,"  said  Katie  solemnly,  "an'  I 
had  a  gabbing  fit." 

A  deep  silence,  broken  only  by  the  soft  plash,  plash 
of  the  waves  upon  the  beach,  followed  this  strange 
announcement. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  continued  poor  Katie,  "a  gabbin'  fit. 
He  were  a  jantleman,  an'  ast  no  questions,  but  he  had 
a  way  wi'  him  and  a  compelling  eye.  'Fore  God,  I 
tell't  him  everything  I  knew.  An'  he  gave  the 
child " 

She  ceased  speaking,  looked  down  at  me,  then  re- 
peated in  a  lowered  voice:  "An'  he  gave  the 
child " 

It  seemed  as  if  she  dared  not  finish  her  sentence 
for  fear  of  getting  me  in  trouble.  My  heart  suddenly 
swelled  with  sympathy. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  I  said,  pushing  myself  in 
front  of  her,  "and  Katie  has  done  nothing  wrong. 
I  ran  away  from  her  into  the  field  and  she  had  to 
come  after  me.  He  gave  me  the  half  of  a  broken  six- 
pence. I  am  to  keep  it  till  he  comes  for  it." 

Wild  Will  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter,  delighted 
laughter.  I  was  glad  some  one  was  pleased — but  mis- 
chief was  apt  to  please  Wild  Will.  Sam  the  Cool 
lifted  his  eyebrows  until  they  almost  vanished  in 
his  dark  hair.  The  younger  boys  each  stood  first  on 
one  leg,  then  on  the  other,  as  if  the  uncertainty  of 
coming  events  deprived  every  attitude  of  comfort 
and  stability.  Aunt  Caro  flashed  an  amused  glance 
at  Max. 

"You  had  best  accustom  yourself,  Max  dear,"  she 
said  softly.  "It  was  bound  to  begin  some  time. 
Lovely  little  Hope !" 

12 


Max  stepped  forward.  "What  did  this  man  look 
like,  Katie  ?"  he  asked  pleasantly,  in  his  kind  voice. 

"The  jantleman,"  said  Katie,  with  a  strong  accent 
on  the  word,  "was,  I  judge,  near  hand  twenty-sivin ; 
he  had  a  compellin'  gray  eye,  a  big  masterful  nose," 
and  she  gave  a  full  description  of  the  stranger's  ap- 
pearance. "He  looked  cast  down  like,  as  though  the 
world  had  gone  wrong  wi'  him,  an'  he  was  greatly 
ta'en  wi'  Miss  Hope." 

"Give  me  the  sixpence,  Hope,"  said  Max  gravely. 
"I'll  find  out  where  the  man  is  stopping,  and  give 
it  back." 

"No,"  I  said  defiantly,  "no,  Max." 

Max  was  handsome.  He  had  a  fine  figure,  clear- 
cut  features,  hair  as  fair  as  my  own,  and  very  in- 
telligent gray  eyes — there  was  no  green  glint  in  them, 
I  thought,  as  I  faced  him.  The  boys  admired  him 
greatly,  more  because  of  his  skill  in  all  athletic  sports 
than  for  his  cleverness  as  a  scholar.  He  was  a  very 
fine  scholar. 

"If  you  will  give  me  the  half  sixpence,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you  shall  have  Sergius  Boris  Best" — his 
wolf-hound — "for  your  very  own." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Poor  child!"  murmured  Aunt  Caro,  "her  first 
scalp." 

Max  went  on  speaking ;  he  acted  as  though  we  two 
were  quite  alone. 

"If  you  will  give  me  that  man's  sixpence,  you 
shall  ride  Gray  Griffith" — his  favorite  saddle-horse — 
"whenever  you  choose." 

I  laughed  out.  "If  I  coaxed,  you  would  let  me  ride 
him  without  that,"  I  said. 

Max  flushed  deeply.  No  one  spoke.  The  moment 
was  recognized  as  a  very  solemn  one  by  Katie  and 
the  boys.  Aunt  Caro  was  happy;  the  scene  enter- 
tained her,  and  she  loved  to  be  entertained. 

13 


THE   PKISONER    OF    OENITH   FAKM 

But  if  I  was  a  wayward  child,  I  had  a  warm  heart 
of  my  own,  and  seeing  that  Max  looked  really  pained, 
it  melted.  I  drew  the  half  sixpence  from  my  pocket 
and  held  it  out  to  him. 

"You  may  have  it  for  nothing,  Max,"  I  said. 

Max  sought  everywhere  for  the  stranger,  but  in 
vain.  He  could  not  even  learn  his  name,  nor  where 
he  had  heen  stopping.  Aunt  Caro  took  possession  of 
the  half  sixpence,  and  it  was  put  carefully  away — to 
he  returned  later. 

Katie  never  forgot  the  incident,  and  for  a  time 
spoke  of  it  so  often  that  it  became  one  of  my 
memories. 

"You  mind  the  day  I  had  the  gabbin'  fit  ?"  always 
prefixed  the  story. 


14 


n 

"Do  you  bide  here,  thin,"  said  Katie,  "an'  I'll  run 
till  the  house  an'  fetch  your  whup.  And  do  you  keep 
the  bit  cloak  about  you." 

I  sat  down  on  a  rock,  under  the  dark  pine  near  us, 
and  told  Sergius  Boris  Best,  my  companion,  to  lie 
down  and  rest  while  Katie  was  gone.  The  tall  wolf- 
hound had  grown  old,  he  was  now  ten ;  and  my  short 
curls  had  grown  long — I  was  fourteen.  Although  it 
was  early  June,  when  the  steady  warmth  of  summer 
had  not  yet  come  to  the  coast  of  New  England,  the 
day  was  uncomfortably  hot  because  of  a  fiery  land 
breeze — a  really  burning  wind  that  made  my  cheeks 
feel  feverishly  hot,  and  obliged  old  Serge  to  loll  his 
pink  tongue  very  far  out  indeed.  The  scarlet  flag 
on  top  of  the  large  tent,  discernible  through  a  distant 
screen  of  firs,  stood  straight  out  in  the  breeze,  showing 
to  great  advantage  the  piebald  horse  on  its  field  of 
red,  and  the  big  white  letters  below,  C.  F.  (Car- 
michaels'  Folly). 

I  contemplated  both  tent  roof  and  flag  with  great 
complacency;  then,  disobeying  my  nurse,  flung  off 
the  long  cloak  of  sapphire-blue  silk  that  shrouded  me 
to  my  feet  and,  standing  up,  transferred  my  admir- 
ing gaze  to  my  own  frock — what  I  could  see  of  it. 
My  short  skirts  were  very  full  and  very  many.  They 
were  of  white  gauze,  the  outer  one  glittering  with 
spangles — tiny  silver  stars.  The  waist  was  cut  low, 
the  sleeves  short.  Starting  from  the  left  shoulder  a 
long  spray  of  morning-glories  crossed  the  front  of  the 
corsage,  wound  itself  about  my  slim  waist,  and  fell 
to  the  skirt's  edge.  Its  trumpets,  pale  blue  and 

15 


THE    PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

purest  white,  were  quite  firm,  since  they  were  Parisian 
morning-glories,  not  natural  flowers.  I  touched  the 
spray  lightly  with  regretful  fingers,  wishing  that  my 
flower — the  flower  of  my  month — were  less  fragile ; 
then  put  up  my  hand  hastily  to  find  if  the  ribbon 
that  kept  my  curls  in  check  were  in  place.  Katie  had 
gathered  them  close  at  the  back  of  my  neck,  and  tied 
the  pale  blue  ribbon  firmly. 

"They  do  dance  of  thimselves,  I'm  thinkin',"  she 
had  said,  sighing  over  the  refractory  tendrils  that 
seemed  to  take  a  mischievous  pleasure  in  escaping 
her  fingers. 

As  I  lifted  my  arm  to  make  sure  of  the  ribbon,  a 
clear  whistle  blew  shrilly  from  the  tent.  Sergius 
rose  quickly,  if  a  trifle  stiffly.  Again  the  whistle 
sounded.  The  old  wolf-hound  looked  anxiously  up  at 
me.  He  knew  that  he  must  obey  his  master's  sum- 
mons— it  was  Max  who  called — yet  he  did  not  wish 
to  leave  me  unattended. 

"Run  along,  you  dear  old  thing,"  I  said  reassur- 
ingly ;  "Katie  is  coming  back." 

But  the  dog  moved  away  unwillingly.  Every 
motion  of  his  lank  body  showed  discontent.  He 
strained  his  ears  tight  back  to  his  long,  thin  head, 
in  token  of  disapproval.  I  now  ranked  Max  in  his 
affection.  He  belonged  to  Max — but  I  belonged  to 
him,  and  he  desired  to  keep  me  constantly  under  his 
watchful  eye. 

Max  had  been  absent  for  a  long  year.  He  had 
finished  his  college  course,  and  Mr.  Errol  had  re- 
warded him  for  carrying  off  many  honors  by  giving 
him  a  year  of  travel.  Max  was  seven  and  a  half  years 
older  than  I — he  was  already  twenty-two!  My 
cousins  admired  and  looked  up  to  him,  making  no 
secret  of  his  being  their  ideal.  But,  although  I  shared 
this  hero-worship,  I  was  careful  not  to  let  its  object 
discover  my  deplorable  weakness.  It  was  natural 

16 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

and  very  right,  I  thought,  that  the  boys  should  bow 
down  before  one  who  was,  in  every  way,  their  supe- 
rior. In  my  case,  however,  it  was  different.  I  was  a 
girl — place  aux  dames  \  Let  Max  kneel,  if  one  of 
us  must.  So  I  held  my  head  up  as  proudly  as  King 
Jamie,  who  had  won  this  sobriquet  because  of  his 
haughty  carriage,  and  smiled  no  more  graciously 
upon  Max  than  upon  all. 

Before  Sergius  Boris  Best  had  reached  the  scat- 
tered pines  that  stood  between  my  resting-place  and 
the  distant  tent,  his  heart  failed  him,  and,  turning, 
he  bounded  back  to  make  sure  that  it  was  quite  safe 
to  leave  me.  I  caught  his  dear  head  gently  between 
my  outspread  hands;  I  kissed  his  long,  kind  nose, 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other. 

"I  love  you,"  I  said  tenderly,  "but  you  must  mind 
Max.  Remember,  you  are  a  very  great  person,  in- 
deed— and  the  great  must  never  fail  us.  Your  grand- 
father was  just  Sergius  Boris ;  your  father,  Sergius 
Boris  Better ;  but  you,  my  darling"  (I  slid  my  arms 
around  his  neck),  "are  Sergius  Boris  Best.  So  when 
Max  whistles,  go !" 

Quite  understanding,  proud  of  his  name,  delight- 
ing in  my  praise,  the  dog  trotted  resolutely  away  and 
disappeared  among  the  trees.  Left  alone  I  spread  my 
discarded  cloak  upon  the  rock  and  seated  myself 
very  carefully,  fearful  of  crushing  my  gauzy  skirts 
and  marring  their  filmy  beauty.  Then  I  began  to 
listen  to  the  river,  and  forgot  my  bravery.  It  was  such 
a  fascinating  little  river!  To  a  child  brought  up 
on  the  banks  of  the  stately  Hudson  it  seemed  but 
a  big  brook.  A  light-hearted,  wayward,  babbling 
stream,  either  rippling  gayly  inland  with  the  tide — 
its  constant  companion — or  lamenting  noisily  when 
this  playmate,  summoned  home,  rushed  tumultuously 
seaward.  It  was  then  that  one  heard  both  tide  and 
river  roaring  angrily  as  they  gained  their  freedom, 

IT 


THE    PKISONER    OF    OKNITH   FAEM 

and  the  wide  stretch  between  the  banks  just  below, 
by  forcing  their  waters  through  the  narrow  rock- 
edged  chasm  over  which  hangs  the  ancient  bridge  of 
chains,  the  oldest  suspension  bridge  in  New  England. 

Moaning  Pines,  the  neglected  country  seat  that 
Aunt  Caro  had  lately  leased  for  a  summer  home,  was 
but  a  narrow  strip  of  acres  between  the  high-road  and 
the  river.  Its  stretches  of  rough  grass  were  separated 
from  the  country  road  by  a  tangle  of  trees  and  under- 
brush, while  on  the  river  side  it  boasted  a  mag- 
nificent ledge  of  rocks.  And  it  was  in  the  many 
crevices  of  these  rocks  that  the  grove  of  stately  pines, 
which  had  given  the  place  its  name,  had  found  firm 
foothold.  The  house  was  roomy  and  comfortable, 
commanding  a  pretty  view  of  the  ever-restless  river. 
As  it  was  several  miles  distant  from  the  sea,  Aunt 
Caro  felt  that  in  taking  it  she  was  keeping  me  suffi- 
ciently far  from  my  hereditary  enemy.  For  her 
belief  in  the  gypsy's  warning  remained  unshaken, 
although  Mr.  Errol  and  Max  argued  against,  and  the 
boys  alternately  scolded  and  laughed  at,  her  super- 
stitious fears.  I  was  not  allowed  to  learn  to  swim  or 
to  row — even  boating  upon  fresh  water  being  denied 
me.  The  boys  would  have  preferred  spending  their 
summers  at  their  home  on  the  Hudson,  since  in  winter 
they  were  obliged  to  leave  it  for  school  and  college. 
And  it  was  to  quiet  their  discontent  that  Aunt  Caro 
had  consented  to  the  purchase  of  the  circus  tent,  that 
they  might  indulge  in  their  favorite — some  said 
foolish — amusement. 

Years  before,  when  I  was  but  five  years  old,  Mr. 
Errol,  who  was  in  sympathy  with  this  fad  of  ours, 
had  had  a  large  rotunda  built  on  his  place.  It  had 
been  supplied  with  a  heating  apparatus,  dressing- 
rooms  for  the  youthful  performers,  and  luxurious 
seats  for  the  very  small  audience.  Only  relatives 
and  intimate  friends  were  admitted,  and  each  year 

18 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

the  circle  was  more  closely  'drawn.  This  was  because 
I  was  a  member  of  the  troupe,  and  as  I  grew  older 
Max  disapproved  more  and  more  of  my  being  seen 
by  any  save  the  favored  few. 

Mr.  Errol  and  the  old  ring-master  whom  he  had 
engaged  to  train  us  had  been  foolishly  proud  of  the 
ease  with  which  I  learned  my  "business."  But  since 
I  was  supple,  fearless,  and  had  inherited  the  odd 
instinct  that  enables  its  possessors  to  manage  horses — 
for  instinct  one  might  read  sympathy,  I  think — 
there  were  really  very  few  difficulties  to  be  overcome. 
Then,  too,  I  strove  hard  to  acquire  skill;  defeat  was 
galling  to  me.  To  this  day  I  can  remember  my 
misery  of  shame  when  the  piebald — an  old  circus 
horse,  well  accustomed  to  the  vagaries  of  beginners — 
continued  his  routine-like  canter  around  the  ring, 
leaving  me,  a  tyro,  dangling  high  in  air.  I  was  per- 
fectly safe,  for  I  was  fastened,  by  means  of  a  stout 
leathern  belt  and  long  strap,  to  a  horizontal  bar. 
This,  so  long  as  I  kept  my  footing  on  the  piebald's 
padded  back,  gyrated,  with  the  iron  ring  to  which 
it  was  attached,  around  the  central  pole.  But  what 
was  safety  of  limb  to  a  proud  child  whose  vanity  was 
hurt  ?  It  was  not  many  times  that  my  awkwardness 
thus  put  me  to  shame.  I  took  great  pains,  and  soon 
excelled — to  the  delight  of  kind  Mr.  Errol  and  my 
teacher. 

Max  said  that  I  must  give  up  playing  circus  when 
I  was  sixteen.  He  was  ring-master  when  at  home. 
When  he  was  away  a  steady,  cool-headed  old  groom 
took  his  place.  This  was  because  Wild  Will  and  I 
sometimes  forgot  that  we  were  only  playing,  and  took 
risks  that  made  Mr.  Errol  stand  up  on  his  chair  and 
roar  out  remonstrances,  and  sent  Katie's  apron  over 
her  head  through  fear  of  seeing  us  killed.  Then  it 
was  that  the  ring-master  called  us  to  order.  As  our 
superior  officer,  we  obeyed  him — because  of  early 

19 


THE    PKISONEK    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

training — when  deaf  to  the  voices  of  the  family. 
Aunt  Caro  never  distressed  us  by  joining  in  these 
foolish  alarms.  She  had  full  faith  in  our  ability 
to  take  care  of  ourselves. 

On  that  hot  June  morning  we  were  to  have  a  dress 
rehearsal.  In  the  afternoon  a  grand  performance  was 
to  be  given  in  honor  of  Mr.  Errol  and  Max,  who  had 
just  arrived  on  a  visit  to  Moaning  Pines. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Katie  took  a  long  time  to 
find  my  whip.  To  amuse  myself  I  began  to  sing — 
for,  like  some  birds,  I  was  born  a  singer.  As  I  was 
very  happy  and  free  from  care  (ignorant  of  evil, 
and  guarded  from  such  hateful  knowledge  by  the 
tender  love  of  those  who  formed  my  world),  I  natu- 
rally chose  to  sing  of  sorrow,  and  to  weave  a  melody 
of  minor  cadences  for  the  heart-broken  words  that  I 


Because  I  was  Mary  Carmichael  I  had  been  taught 
the  greater  part  of  the  long  ballad  of  Mary  Hamil- 
ton. But  the  six  verses  that  told  the  reason  for  her 
tragic  death  I  was  not  to  hear  until  I  was  grown  up. 
Until  then  I  must  only  know  that  her  fate  had  been 
a  cruel  one,  and  so  Katie — in  her  ever-varying  dia- 
lect— declared : 

"An  awfu'  dishgrace  to  that  graceless  Queen  Mary 
o'  Scots,  wha  lost  her  own  head  later,  glory  be  an' 
thanks  to  good  Queen  Bess,  wha,  God  bless  her,  were 
but  a  bit  fond  thin  of  passin'  the  pleasant  word  wi' 
all  men — wi'out  first  marryin'  one  an'  thin  t'other. 
An'  if  (wearyin'  o'  thim)  she  did  cut  the  heads 
from  off  some  twa  or  three  greedy  lords  wha  were 
lookin'  for  being  made  king  (an'  not  payin'  compli- 
mints  an'  the  like  for  the  sake  o'  true  love  alone), 
why  not,  I  asks?  Sure  she  was  but  a  woman  thin, 
when  all's  said  an'  done!  An'  to  know  a  man  has 
laid  a  fair  word  on  his  lip  but  to  land  it  out  for  his 
ain  glory  (through  hopes  of  so  gainin'  a  kingly  crown 

20 


by  marriage),  why,  a  woman  of  ony  spirit  would  ha' 
his  head  off  an'  she  could — an'  Queen  Bess  were  a 
queen.  So  pay  no  heed,  my  lam',  whin  you  hear 
folks  say  that  Mary,  Queen  o'  Scots,  were  a  martyr. 
She  thought  o'  hersel'  only — niver  o'  the  good  of  her 
people.  An'  belike  she  thought  to  wile  away  all 
hearts  fra'  the  English  Queen  whin  she  crossit  the 
Border  in  fear  o'  her  life !  An'  it's  I  that  am  afther 
tellin'  you  that  passin'  the  pleasant  word  wi'  all  does 
no  harm,  but  the  woman  wha  will  be  iver  marryin' 
will  know  trouble."  (Katie  was  unmarried.)  "An' 
as  for  that  poor  ill-treated  bit  creature,  Mary  Hamil- 
ton, wha  lost  her  life  because  o'  her  Queen's  choosin' 
to  wed  bad  men  by  the  dozen — "  Here  Katie  always 
came  to  an  abrupt  stop,  to  finish  with  this  complaint 
against  Aunt  Caro :  "Then  it's  I  that  am  wishin'  Mrs. 
Carmichael  would  be  afther  teachin'  you  these  same 
verses  hersel' !  They  bring  the  tears  too  near  hand 
the  eyes  wid  the  sorrow  in  thim.  But  your  Aunt 
Caro  will  no'  cry  hersilf  whin  she  can  find  those  for- 
ninst  her  to  do  it  for  her !" 

So  that  morning  I  sang  a  chosen  few  of  the  many 
verses  that  I  had  learned  when  a  little  child — Katie 
had  taught  me  sixteen. 

"When  I  was  a  babe,  and  a  very  little  babe, 

And  stood  at  my  mither's  knee, 
Na  witch  nor  warlock  did  unfauld " 

I  broke  off  abruptly.  Did  I  see  something  moving 
under  the  pines  that  rose,  black  and  sombre,  between 
me  and  the  river?  I  looked  intently.  !No,  nothing 
but  a  swaying  shadow,  flung  probably  by  some  heavy 
branch.  I  recommenced  singing,  but  went  on  to  the 
second  verse: 

"But  my  mither  was  a  proud  woman, 

A  proud  woman  and  a  bauld, 
And  she  hired  me  to  Queen  Mary's  bower 
When  scarce  eleven  years  auld. 

21 


THE    PRISONER   OF    OKNITH   FARM 

"O  happy,  happy  is  the  maid, 

That's  born  of  beauty  free! 
It  was  my  dimpling  rosy  cheeks 

That's  been  the  dule  o'  me; 
And  wae  be  to  that  weirdless  wicht 

And  a'  his  witcherie." 

Again  I  ceased  my  song.  A  robin,  a  very  young 
robin,  had  alighted  upon  a  low  branch  of  my  pine. 
I  held  myself  motionless,  fearing  to  terrify  the  little 
fluffy  thing.  It  was  learning  to  fly.  I  thought  of 
my  own  first  flight  across  the  silken  banners — held 
by  the  nervous  boys  as  I  rode  around  the  ring — and 
watched  the  little  tyro  on  the  branch  with  the  kindly 
protecting  sympathy  of  the  finished  professional. 
Presently  it  gathered  sufficient  courage  for  a  new 
effort,  spread  its  awkward  wings,  and  attained  a 
neighboring  stretch  of  grass  where  its  mother  hopped, 
twittering  instructions. 

I  returned  to  Mary  Hamilton  and,  skipping  many 
verses,  sang: 

"Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries, 

The  nicht  she'll  hae  but  three; 
There  was  Mary  Beaton,  Mary  Seaton, 
And  Mary  Carmichael,  and  me." 

The  song  suddenly  took  possession  of  me,  swayed 
me.  I  sang  Mary  Hamilton's  appeal  to  the  mariners 
as  though  it  were  my  very  own.  There  was  heart- 
break in  the  inflections  of  my  clear  soprano. 

"0  a'  ye  mariners,  far  and  near, 

That  sail  ayont  the  faem, 
O  dinna  let  my  father  and  mither  ken, 
But  what  I  am  coming  hame." 

The  world  seemed  very  silent  when,  with  the 
cessation  of  my  song,  I  swung  back  into  every-day 
life.  Then  the  heavy  shadow  under  the  pines  sud- 
denly took  shape,  detached  itself,  and  I  forgot  Mary 

22 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Hamilton  in  my  interest  in  the  tall,  powerfully 
built  man,  who  came  quickly  toward  me  across  the 
grass.  The  stranger  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
his  thick  brown  hair  was  roughened  by  the  wind  as 
he  strode  along.  That  he  knew  me,  and  was  very 
glad  to  see  me,  was  evident,  for  in  his  eyes  there  was 
an  expression  of  unmistakable  delight,  and  from  be- 
neath his  heavy  brown  mustache  his  white  teeth 
gleamed  in  a  pleased  smile  of  recognition.  Although 
I  was  sure  that  I  had  seen  him  before,  I  could  not 
remember  when  or  where.  I  blushed  with  mortifica- 
tion as  I  realized  that  I  could  not  call  this  old  ac- 
quaintance by  name.  To  make  up  for  my  forgetful- 
ness  I  stepped  forward  to  meet  him,  holding  out  my 
hand  and  smiling  a  welcome : 

"How  do  you  do?"  I  said  graciously,  trusting  to 
hide  by  this  cordiality  my  lack  of  memory.  "Did  you 
leave  your  boat  below  ?  Aunt  Caro  will  be  so  glad  to 
see  you." 

Dropping  his  hat  the  stranger  took  my  outstretched 
hand  in  both  his  own,  but  all  he  said  was :  "Hope !" 

I  had  a  sudden  unaccountable  desire  to  draw  my 
hand  away,  accompanied  by  an  odd  sensation  of 
dread,  as  I  met  his  steady  gaze — his  gray  eyes  had 
a  greenish  glint.  The  next  moment  I  could  only 
wonder  at  this  foolish  feeling,  which  vanished  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come.  Then  I  remembered  my  gay 
circus  toilet,  and  turned  to  get  my  cloak.  The 
stranger,  divining  my  wishes,  gathered  up  the  silken 
mantle  and  hung  it  over  my  shoulders. 

"So  you  don't  remember  me!"  he  said,  and  his 
deep,  rather  harsh  voice  had  an  intonation  of  regret. 
"It  was  foolish  of  me  to  expect  it — you  were  only  a 
baby  then." 

I  blushed  again ;  this  time  at  being  found  out. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  have  forgotten,"  I  said.  "Won't 
you  please  tell  me  your  name  ?" 

23 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNTTH   FAKM 

For  answer  he  drew  a  flat  leathern  case  from  his 
breast  pocket  and  took  from  it  a  miniature  which  he 
handed  to  me.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  child ;  a  child 
with  hair  like  rings  of  gold  and  large  blue  eyes. 
The  little  creature's  eyebrows  were  dark  and  deli- 
cately arched;  the  saucy  little  nose  had  an  upward 
tilt;  the  rosy  lips  had  gay,  upward-curving  corners. 
A  very  sunshiny  little  face,  indeed.  The  frame  of 
the  miniature  was  of  gold,  and  the  design  an  odd  one. 
It  was  as  if  the  child  had  parted  tall  shafts  of  golden- 
rod  and  looked  out  at  you  from  between  their  yellow 
fronds.  Under  a  bit  of  glass  let  into  the  back  of 
the  frame  was  a  tiny  sprig  of  withered  golden-rod. 

I  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  miniature,  and  at  the 
withered  flower.  Then  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  stranger's 
face.  "Pluto!"  I  said. 

There  came  from  the  near  distance  the  sound  of 
bitter-voiced  denunciation.  Katie  was  advancing, 
making  known  her  woes. 

"An'  beneath  his  coat  it  were  all  the  time,  an'  he 
sayin',  'I'm  sure  I  spied  it  somewheres,  Katie.'  An' 
leadin'  me  from  room  to  room  an'  I  niver  shuspectin' 
nothing — a  lam'  in  his  hands !  Of  all  the  limbs  of 
Satan,  thin,  Master  Willie's  the  worst,  an'  well 
named  Wild.  An'  'twas  only  whin  I  was  wellnigh 
dishtracted  wi'  keepin'  you  waitin'  that  I  spied  the 
bit  whup  stickin'  out  fra'  beneath  his  ridin'  jacket, 
an'  thin  only  because  o'  the  glint  o'  the  sappheer  in 
the  handle  o'  it,  an' " 

In  her  angry  haste  she  failed  to  see  that  I  was  not 
alone  until,  red-faced  and  breathless,  she  stood  close 
beside  me.  But  if  I  had  forgotten  the  stranger, 
Katie's  recognition  was  instantaneous,  and  he  re- 
membered her.  Disregarding  her  frosty  stare  of  dis- 
comfited bewilderment,  and  the  rigid  determination 
shown  in  face  and  figure  to  ignore  past  acquaintance- 
ship, he  stepped  quickly  forward  and  shook  her  un- 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

willing  hand.  Then,  while  making  civil  inquiries  as 
to  her  well-being  since  their  past  meeting,  he  took  the 
miniature  that  I  still  held  and  slipped  it  back  into 
his  pocket.  He  did  this  with  such  swift  dexterity 
that  Katie,  in  her  embarrassment,  noticed  nothing. 
Indeed  her  one  and  only  effort  seemed  to  be  not  to 
look  at  him. 

Because  of  the  picture  I,  too,  was  ill  at  ease.  I 
felt  that  the  man  had  taken  a  very  great  liberty  in 
painting  it,  and  in  carrying  it  about  with  him.  Yet 
as  he  appeared  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  having 
broken  an  unwritten  law,  I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  ex- 
press my  displeasure.  I  was  but  fourteen.  My  small 
world  was  made  up  of  county  neighbors,  who  lived  all 
the  year  round  upon  their  own  estates.  I  did  not 
understand — or  know  how  to  meet — those  who  had 
not  always  been  acquainted  with  the  Yorkes  and 
Carmichaels.  I  was  given  no  opportunity,  however, 
to  recover  my  self-poise  or  to  decide  upon  what  I 
ought  to  do  and  say. 

"Mrs.  Cannichael,  sir,"  said  poor  Katie,  rushing 
into  embarrassed  speech,  "will  doubtless,  thin,  be 
pleased  to  see  you  if  you'll  but  walk  till  the  house. 
Miss  Cannichael,  sir,  wud  be  wishful  to  accompany 
you,  but  she  is  expectit  elsewhere.  An'  being  but 
her  maid,  an'  she  needin'  an  attendint,  you'll  doubt- 
less excuse  me " 

"It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  call  upon  Mrs. 
Carmichael,"  was  the  civil  response,  "but  unfor- 
tunately I  am  pressed  for  time." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  long  moment  as  if  wishing 
to  add  a  new  picture  to  his  memory,  then,  bidding 
us  good-bye,  walked  rapidly  back  to  the  little  forest 
of  pines  and  vanished  within  its  glooms  of  shade. 

"Wid  God's  help,"  said  Katie  solemnly,  "I  avoided 
his  compellin'  eye!  Did  he  say  aught  of  the  half 
saxpence,  my  bairn?" 

25 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   EARM 

"No,"  I  said  briefly. 

I  had  no  wish  to  be  questioned.  My  mind  was  in 
a  turmoil  in  regard  to  the  miniature.  Did  I  confide 
in  Aunt  Caro  she  would  laugh,  and  talk  of  conquest. 
If  I  told  the  boys  they  would  vow  vengeance.  As  for 
Max — where  might  not  his  anger  lead  him  should  he 
learn  of  the  stranger's  stolen  possession !  For  stolen 
it  was,  since  even  the  picture  of  one's  child  face 
should  be  one's  own  to  give  or  withhold.  But  surely 
I  might  tell  Katie.  Her  great  unselfish  love  made 
her  a  safe  confidante  and  a  wise  counsellor.  And  it 
was  not  fair,  I  decided,  to  keep  from  her  what  would 
interest  her  so  very  much.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  her 
arm,  staying  our  rapid  progress  toward  the  tent,  and 
told  my  story. 

"Aweel,  aweel!"  she  exclaimed,  but  not  loudly; 
and  then,  closing  her  lips  tightly  and  staring  at  me 
(without  seeing  me),  she  fell  into  deep  thought. 

I  stood  waiting  beside  her,  twisting  my  whip  this 
way  and  that — Max  had  given  it  to  me — admiring  the 
play  of  light  across  the  sapphire  sunken  in  its  handle. 
I  did  not  trouble  further  about  what  to  do  in  the 
matter ;  Katie  was  thinking  for  me,  that  was  sufficient. 
Presently  my  oracle  spoke — but  to  herself,  not  to  me. 

"An'  a  painter  jantleman,  most  likely,  an'  could 
ha'  sold  the  bit  picture  (he  bein'  thin  wi'out  money 
an'  needing  it  sore),  for  many  wud  ha'  been  glad  an5 
proud  to  have  bought  sae  winsome  a  face.  But  no, 
not  him!  For  he's  gentle  born,  as  all  may  see,  and 
no'  just  a  common  artist,  like.  No,  he  keepit  the  bit 
bonnie  face  for  his  ain  silf  an'  it's  luck  it's  been 
afther  bringin'  him.  He  lookit  grand,  dressit  in  the 
best!  I  canna  blame  him  greatly  though,  belike,  I 
ought.  'Tis  but  the  wee  winsome  face  o'  a  bit  bairnie, 
when  a's  said  an'  done!  An',  mayhap,  he  had  lost 
a  young  shister,  an'  my  lam'  put  him  in  mind  o'  her, 
and  he  made  the  bit  picture  an'  put  it  forninst  hia 

26 


THE    PKISOKER    OF    OENITH   FAKM 

lonely  heart.  No,  no" — addressing  me  at  last — 
"we'll  keep  our  ain  counsel,  Miss  Hope.  I'd  not  be 
afther  mentionin'  the  picture — best  not  tell  every- 
thing !  Let  us  not  grudge  the  sad  at  heart  a  ray  o' 
our  own  sunshine.  (Whin" — again  communing  with 
herself — "it's  but  a  weak-like  refliction  of  that  same, 
afther  all ;  an',  I'll  be  bound,  not  half  sae  bonnie  as 
the  child  hersel'  at  the  time.")  She  turned  severely 
upon  me.  "You  were  a  beauty  thin,  Miss  Hope — 
but  that's  years  ago.  Ah,  mony's  the  time  I  said  to 
you  as  pritty  is  that  pritty  does  1" 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  as  we  moved  on  together,  "and 
you  must  be  glad  to  be  able  to  stop,  you  poor  Katie. 
It's  a  pity  that  I  should  not  be  as  good  looking  as  all 
the  Carmichaels,"  I  continued,  swayed  by  a  mis- 
chievous desire  to  rouse  my  dear  companion.  "They 
are  a  handsome  race." 

"An'  it's  han'some,  is  it?"  was  the  sarcastic  re- 
joinder. "But  maybe,  thin,  you're  afther  admirin' 
crows !  An'  I  wonder  at  you,  Miss  Hope.  You,  wi' 
all  the  beauty  o'  the  Yorkes,  to  be  talkin'  of  the 
black  Carmichaels !  And  finding  fault  wid  your  ain 
mither's  looks !  The  hair  like  sunshine,  the  big  blue 
eyes,  an'  skin  like  the  snaw-drift  touched  wi'  the  color 
o'  the  wild  rose.  To  say  naething  of  the  grace  o' 
figure — light  as  the  wind-tossed  flower.  Ah,  she  could 
dance,  could  your  mither !  An'  you,  the  very  image 
o'  her,  findin'  fault  wid  your  appearance;  I'm 
ashamed  for  you,  thin,  Miss  Hope.  The  black  Car- 
michaels, indeed!" 

By  two  o'clock  the  land-breeze  had  died  away, 
and  when,  at  four,  I  again  walked  with  Katie  to 
the  tent,  a  wind  from  the  sea  was  moaning  through 
the  pines.  We  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  breakers 
sweeping  in  upon  the  bar  at  the  river's  mouth.  I  was 
glad  of  this  change  in  the  atmosphere,  since  the  cool 

27 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

sea-breeze  would  enable  us  to  do  our  best.     The  heat 
in  the  tent  that  morning  had  been  oppressive. 

Our  audience  was  a  very  small  one — Aunt  Caro, 
Mr.  Errol,  and  Katie.  Their  high  stand  was  on  the 
side  opposite  our  greenroom;  they  liked  to  see  us 
ride  in.  The  brass  band  had  its  place  near  the  main 
entrance.  The  musicians  were  all  old  men,  and  had 
been  engaged  for  the  summer.  Each  man  was  sworn 
to  secrecy  in  regard  to  our  circus  mania.  We  had 
no  wish  to  have  Moaning  Pines  invaded  by  the  popu- 
lace of  the  neighboring  villages.  As  it  was,  the  gay 
music,  with  the  heavy  boom  of  the  big  drum  that  al- 
ways accompanied  a  tour  de  force,  brought  many  a 
keen-eared  boy  too  near  the  tent.  The  grooms  often 
had  their  hands  full  driving  off  the  overcurious. 

To  please  Mr.  Errol  old  circus  customs  were  held 
to,  but  we  always  introduced  some  nonsense  of  our 
own  devising.  The  performance  that  afternoon  com- 
menced, as  usual,  by  the  entrance  of  our  small  troupe, 
riding  two  by  two  with  dignified  solemnity  around 
the  ring.  Then  my  beautiful  chestnut  mare,  dear 
Lady  Disdain,  showed  her  paces.  We  believed  that 
her  waltzing  and  other  feats  of  skill  could  not  be  sur- 
passed by  the  best-trained  professional.  Later  (ar- 
rayed in  my  star-bespangled  frock  with  its  floating 
garland  of  morning-glories),  I  sprang  from  her  back 
over  the  broad  blue  banners  stretched  across  the  ring. 
Then  the  boys  held  hoops,  covered  with  blue,  pink, 
and  white  paper,  through  which  I  burst  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  mighty  clash  of  cymbals  and  the  boom 
of  the  big  drum.  Dear  Lady  Disdain  was  always  in 
constant  fear  lest  I  might  fail  to  return  to  her  in 
safety,  after  each  of  these  flights  aloft.  Her  ears 
were  never  quiet  and  betrayed  the  strain  she  endured. 
Yet  she  was  ever  eager  to  enter  the  ring,  and  showed 
as  great  pride  in  my  triumphs  as  I  felt  in  hers. 

Sergius  Boris  Best,  on  the  contrary,  detested  the 
28 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

entire  performance.  He  spent  the  time  on  guard 
outside  the  tent,  whence  an  occasional  howl  of  mel- 
ancholy protest  came  to  remind  us  of  his  near  neigh- 
borhood and  unalterable  disapproval.  But  sometimes 
he  had  to  enter  and  lend  his  services.  This  was  when 
we  played  Lord  Ronald  and  Lady  Clare,  and  Mr. 
Errol  had  chosen  to  demand  the  little  pantomime 
for  that  afternoon. 

"It  was  the  time  when  lilies  blow, 

And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air, 

Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe 

To  give  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare." 

Poor  Serge  had  to  be  the  doe.  He  disliked  his  part 
very  much.  He  would  have  refused  to  play  it,  I  be- 
lieved, had  he  known  what  meek  animal  he  per- 
sonated. 

Jamie,  clad  in  one  of  Katie's  lilac  calicoes  and 
wearing  a  cap,  was  Alice  the  nurse.  Lord  Ronald 
had  won  his  title  by  taking  this  role  when  a  very 
small  boy.  Max  read  the  poem  while  we  enacted  it. 

The  great  wolf-hound  played  his  part  well.  Years 
of  practice  had  taught  him  the  exact  moment  when, 
as  the  lily-white  doe,  he  must  leap  up  and,  dropping 
his  head  in  my  hand,  follow  me 


all  the  way." 


He  was  graceful,  gentle,  always  to  be  depended 
upon.  I  loved  him  very  dearly.  So  dearly,  indeed, 
that  when  Max,  according  to  his  wont,  the  play  being 
over,  stepped  forward  to  take  the  "single  rose"  from 
my  hair,  I  denied  it  him,  fastening  the  flower  in- 
stead to  the  collar  of  my  pet.  Mr.  Errol  applauded, 
while  the  dog,  holding  his  head  haughtily,  supremely 
conscious  of  my  favor,  stalked  proudly  from  the  tent. 
Aunt  Caro  laughed,  well  amused  to  see  Max  look 
grave. 

29 


THE    PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"Are  you  even  jealous  of  Old  Serge?"  she  ques- 
tioned, in  her  rich  contralto. 

"Yes,"  said  Max  steadily.  "Why  did  you  slight 
me,  Hope?" 

I  smiled  and  blushed.  I  thought  him  foolish,  but 
his  folly  pleased  me. 

"Give  him  this,  Lady  Clare,"  cried  Mr.  Errol, 
flinging  another  rose  over  the  railing  of  his  high 
stand.  "You  mustn't  snub  poor  Max,  child,  when 
he's  just  come  home." 

Teasing  Ronald  sprang  forward  to  catch  it.  Alice 
the  nurse,  suspecting  mischief,  flung  herself  upon 
his  lordship,  tripped  upon  the  unaccustomed  skirt, 
and  went  down  bearing  him  with  her.  The  rose  was 
crushed.  I  laughed  out  with  delight,  made  my  rev- 
erence quickly,  and  escaped  to  my  dressing  tent. 
Then,  as  always,  I  was  sorry  to  have  pained  Max, 
and  determined  to  behave  better  in  future.  Later  I 
rode  around  the  ring  with  him — both  standing,  my 
hand  upon  his  shoulder — while  he  guided  our  two 
bare-backed  steeds,  Gray  Griffith  and  Lady  Disdain. 
Max  rode  superbly,  managing  the  horses  so  skilfully 
that  I  flitted  from  one  to  the  other  and  back  again 
without  difficulty  or  danger.  When  at  the  last  we 
rode  up  to  the  grandstand  to  receive  Mr.  Errol's  com- 
pliments, and  the  pretty  bouquet  prepared  for  me, 
I  made  amends  for  past  ill  behavior. 

"Max  is  the  best  rider  of  us  all,"  I  announced 
positively,  nodding  gayly  at  Mr.  Errol.  "See,  I 
salute  him,  and  bow  the  head !" 

So  saying  I  kissed  my  finger  tips,  and  swaying 
lightly  toward  my  companion  gently  patted  his  cheek. 
But  Max,  to  my  surprise  and  embarrassment,  caught 
my  hand  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  place  my  own 
had  touched. 

"Bravo,  bravo !"  roared  Mr.  Errol,  with  such  sten- 
torian approval  that  the  horses,  alarmed,  started 

30 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

away  in  great  haste  and  carried  us  out  of  the  main 
tent. 

"Are  you  angry?"  Max  asked  softly,  as  he  lifted 
me  to  the  ground.  He  did  not  release  me  but, 
bending  his  handsome  head,  strove  to  look  into  my 
eyes.  "Are  you  very  angry,  dear  little  Hope  ?" 

Here  a  frightful  and  blood-curdling  in-drawing  of 
the  breath  through  closely  shut  teeth  made  us  both 
start.  I  shrieked  faintly,  for  close  behind  us  stood 
an  Indian  with  uplifted  knife. 

"Will  Carmichael!"  exclaimed  Max  in  disgust, 
recognizing  the  painted  savage.  "What  an  infernal 
nuisance  you  are !" 

"Come,  hurry  up  and  change  your  togs,  Hope,  my 
infant,"  said  the  Indian,  wagging  his  be-feathered 
head  at  me  and  grinning  hideously,  "or  I'll  scalp 
you  where  you  stand.  I  want  to  finish  up  this  non- 
sense and  get  a  swim  before  dinner." 

"IsTo  swim  for  you  this  afternoon,  William,"  said 
Max.  "Don't  you  hear  the  breakers  on  the  bar? 
There  must  have  been  a  storm  offshore.  There's  a 
very  heavy  sea  on." 

We  listened  as  with  one  accord.  Above  the  drawl- 
ing tones  of  Sam's  voice,  as  he  amused  Mr.  Errol  by 
propounding  old  conundrums  and  giving  new  an- 
swers, could  be  heard  the  angry  roar  of  the  surf  on  the 
sand  spit  at  the  mouth  of  the  river.  The  breeze, 
rushing  inland  laden  with  foam  breath,  grew  wilder 
each  moment.  The  tent  awnings  flapped;  we  heard 
the  snap,  snap,  of  the  big  red  flag  as  it  whipped 
gayly  overhead.  A  pleasant  invigorating  freshness 
made  itself  felt  everywhere. 

"When  is  a  door  not  a  door?"  demanded  Sam 
lazily  in  the  near  distance. 

"When  it  is  a-jar,  my  cool  young  friend,"  came 
Mr.  Errol's  prompt  answer. 

"Wrong  again,  sir" — Sam's  voice  was  heavy  with 
31 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORKETH   FARM 

compassion.  "A  door  is  not  a  door  when  it  is 
a-creek." 

"Rubbish!"  from  Mr.  Errol.  "You'd  better  try 
again,  Sammy." 

"I  will" — Sam  spoke  gently — "for  I  love  to  please. 
When  is  a  door  like  dear  Lady  Disdain  ?" 

"Give  it  up,"  cried  Mr.  Errol. 

"When  it's  bolted." 

"Hope,  Hope,"  implored  Will,  "do  hurry  up !" 

I  ran  away  to  my  dressing  tent  and  changed  my 
tulle  and  spangles  for  the  simple  attire  of  a  stage 
country  girl — a  frock  of  blue  and  white  striped 
cambric,  with  sun-bonnet  to  match,  and  a  white  apron. 
The  entertainment  was  to  end  with  a  new  pantomime 
composed  by  Jamie.  It  was  entitled: 

"A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that, 
In  Quaker's  gray  or  cleric's  hat." 

As  I  entered,  mounted  upon  my  beautiful  mare, 
I  looked  about  the  large  tent  with  happy  eyes.  I 
was  excited.  Max  had  shown  so  much  affection.  I 
was  never  quite  sure  that  I  might  always  please  him 
— and  I  wished  to,  very  much.  I  dropped  the  reins 
on  Lady  Disdain's  glossy  neck  and  she  walked  quietly 
once  around  the  ring.  The  tent  was  pleasant;  the 
sunshine  shut  out,  the  fresh  breeze  stealing  in. 

"This  fair  young  creature,"  read  Max  from  Jamie's 
manuscript,  "is  Doris  Day,  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
ranchman.  She  is  out  for  a  ride  upon  the  prairie; 
she  seeketh  flowers." 

I  leaned  from  my  saddle,  scanning  the  grass  of  the 
prairie  earnestly.  I  was  so  busy  looking  for  flowers 
that  I  failed  to  observe  a  handsome  youth  in  clerical 
garb  (Jamie),  who  rode  up  and  joined  me.  He  had 
hardly  done  so  when  Sam,  dressed  as  a  Quaker  in 
the  old-style  costume — flapping  gray  coat  and  broad- 
brimmed  beaver — came  up  on  the  other  side.  Doria 

32 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FAKM 

Day  now  proved  herself  a  gay  coquette,  distributing 
her  smiles  equally  between  her  two  suitors.  Her 
sun  bonnet  was  pushed  back;  she  stuck  a  Quaker 
nosegay  in  her  belt,  a  clerical  posy  in  her  hair. 
Then,  growing  saucy,  she  presented  each  aspirant 
with  a  flower  from  his  rival's  bouquet  Both  men 
showing  undue  temper,  she  dismissed  them  and  rode 
away.  They  retired  from  the  ring. 

"The  lovely  damsel  loseth  her  way,"  Max  an- 
nounced. "Night  is  coming  on.  She  feels  alarmed." 

Dear  Lady  Disdain  now  strayed  from  the  ring. 
As  we  passed  the  entrance  flap  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Sergius  sitting  bolt  upright  just  outside.  His 
head  was  stretched  forward,  his  ears  cocked — I  won- 
dered what  he  was  watching  so  intently.  Then  I 
turned  my  attention  to  counterfeiting  the  anxiety 
my  trying  position  demanded.  An  ear-piercing 
screech  now  came  from  the  greenroom,  and  Will, 
with  Ronald — also  in  paint  and  feathers — rushed  in. 
They  bestrode  bronchos,  and  looked  far  too  wild  and 
savage  for  the  nerves  of  my  excitable  mare. 

I  was  to  have  been  captured  by  the  red  men  and, 
later,  rescued  by  my  two  suitors;  the  one  forgetting 
his  cloth,  the  other  his  habit  of  turning  the  cheek, 
in  their  determination  to  free  me.  Will  and  Ronald 
were  to  have  been  slain  by  these  men  of  peace,  but 
Lady  Disdain  ordered  otherwise.  No  sooner  did  she 
see  the  oncoming  savages  than — as  the  boys  said — 
she  went  wild,  starting  off  on  a  mad  race  around  the 
ring  as  if  for  very  life.  At  first  I  strove  to  soothe 
and  stop  her,  but  Wild  Will,  thus  gaining  vantage, 
came  very  near  and  stretched  out  a  sinewy  arm  to 
snatch  me  from  my  saddle.  His  dark  eyes  gleamed 
with  excitement.  To  make  his  appearance  more  ter- 
rible he  had  painted  spots,  to  represent  blood,  upon 
his  arms  and  chest.  At  this  moment  a  cloud  partially 
obscured  the  sun.  The  sudden  gloom,  and  the  wicked 

33 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

look  that  the  paint  and  strange  dress  gave  my  cousin's 
dark  face  (transforming  its  cheerful  features  into 
the  aspect  of  a  red  devil),  filled  me  with  an  unreason- 
ing terror.  I  screamed  in  real  fear,  and  giving  the 
mare  her  head  urged  her  toward  the  grandstand. 

Delighted,  and  not  at  all  comprehending  the  state 
of  my  nerves,  the  savages  gave  chase  and  headed 
me  off.  Sam  the  Cool,  an  onlooker,  awaiting  his  cue 
in  the  entrance  to  our  greenroom,  understood  better, 
and  rode  in,  followed  by  Jamie,  hoping  to  mend 
matters.  They  only  made  things  worse,  however, 
since  they  pursued  the  Indians  who  were  pursuing 
me,  and  the  race  grew  dangerous.  Max  could  not 
ply  his  whip  because  the  horses  were  already  nearly 
crazy  with  excitement,  neither  could  he  catch  the 
bridle  of  my  mare  without  risk,  since  those  follow- 
ing might  then  run  me  down  before  they  could  stop 
their  mad  pace.  He  stormed  and  commanded  in 
vain ;  no  one  heeded.  Mr.  Errol,  adding  his  voice  to 
the  general  clamor,  pounded  upon  the  railing  of  the 
stand,  entreating,  expostulating,  scolding.  Katie  sat 
back  in  her  chair,  her  apron  over  her  head.  Aunt 
Caro,  a  red  spot  on  either  smooth  cheek,  applauded; 
and  the  band,  thinking  this  the  time  for  much  noise, 
clashed  out  a  wild  hunting  chorus.  The  air  was 
filled  with  the  dust  of  tan  bark,  uprising  from  flying 
hoofs. 

Crouching  low  in  my  saddle,  or  swaying  first  far 
to  one  side,  then  as  far  to  the  other,  in  my  efforts  to 
evade  Wild  Will,  my  foremost  pursuer,  as  he  made 
desperate  efforts  to  seize  me,  I  circled  the  ring  like 
a  hunted  creature  on  the  now  frantic  mare.  Sud- 
denly a  streak  of  sunshine  flashed  across  my  face  and, 
an  instant  later,  a  fierce  sound  cut  through  the  up- 
roar like  a  knife — the  war-cry  of  the  old  wolf-hound. 
It  startled  me  back  into  my  senses.  I  realized  that 
we  were  but  playing.  The  dog  was  in  deadly  earnest. 

34 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

My  foolish  fears  were  forgotten  in  my  anxiety 
as  to  what  might  be  taking  place  outside.  Why  had 
the  sunlight  dazzled  me  ?  The  tent  had  no  opening 
on  that  side.  Something  must  be  done,  and  at  once. 

I  ceased  my  endeavor  to  escape  my  wild  cousin, 
and  as  he  leaned  toward  me,  his  eyes  glittering,  his 
cheeks  ablaze  under  their  war-paint,  I  flung  myself 
into  his  outstretched  arms.  Surprised,  he  clasped 
me  close,  half  his  fierceness  already  quelled  by  the 
necessity  of  managing  the  frightened  pony — unac- 
customed to  the  double  burden. 

I  threw  my  arms  about  Will's  neck,  I  put  my  lips 
close  to  his  cheek.  "I'm  tired,  Willie,"  I  cried.  "I 
give  up." 

He  shouted  his  triumph  to  those  who  followed; 
laughing  gayly,  half  in  exultation  over  the  victory, 
half  in  amusement  at  the  lengths  to  which  his 
imagination  had  carried  him.  The  band  stopped 
playing  the  hunting  chorus  and  struck  up  the  march 
to  the  strains  of  which  the  horses  were  accustomed 
to  make  the  grand  entrance.  This  quieted  them  better 
than  voice  or  rein.  Lady  Disdain  trotted  snorting 
into  the  side  tent,  where  the  grooms  easily  handled 
her.  My  captor  would  have  carried  me  to  the  grand- 
stand, there  to  receive  congratulations  upon  his 
prowess,  but  I  quickly  told  him  of  my  fear  that  Serge 
was  in  trouble.  This  fear  was  added  to  by  seeing 
that  the  servants,  who  had  been  deputed  to  keep  guard 
outside  had,  attracted  by  the  uproar,  come  into  the 
tent.  Max  hastened  out,  and  the  boys,  dismounting, 
followed.  Mr.  Errol,  calling  me  to  him,  began  to 
scold  me  gently  for  yielding  to  such  childish  panic ; 
while  Katie,  pretending  to  approve  this  chiding, 
tenderly  smoothed  my  disarranged  hair.  I  submitted 
to  both  reproof  and  caresses,  listening  intently  to  what 
was  going  on  outside.  Where  was  my  dog? 

There  came  a  loud  exclamation,  followed  by  a 
35 


THE    PKISOKEK    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

silence  that  was  unnatural.  I  broke  away  from  my 
nurse  and  ran  swiftly  to  the  side  of  the  tent  whence 
the  sound  of  the  boys'  voices  had  come.  As  I  ap- 
proached I  saw  that  there  was  a  long  slit  in  the  canvas, 
and  realized  that  it  must  have  been  through  this  that 
the  sunshine  had  flashed.  I  parted  it  and  looked  out. 
Stretched  upon  the  grass  but  a  short  distance  from 
me  lay  the  old  wolf-hound.  I  knew  that  he  was  dead. 

My  cry  of  anguish  brought  Max  quickly  to  me. 
The  boys,  with  eager  kindness,  ranged  themselves 
between  me  and  my  darling,  striving  to  hide  the  cruel 
truth.  I  paid  no  heed  to  Max  or  to  them.  Weeping 
bitterly  I  made  my  way  to  my  faithful  old  companion, 
and  gently  lifted  his  beautiful  head  upon  my  lap. 
The  rose  that  I  had  fastened  to  his  collar  had  been 
broken  from  its  stem  in  the  death  struggle,  but  its 
pale  pink  petals  were  unhurt.  It  lay,  fresh  and 
fragrant,  beside  him  on  the  grass. 

It  was  supposed  that  the  overcurious  intruder, 
who  had  cut  the  canvas  that  he  might  see  our  wild 
race,  had  been  caught  in  the  act  by  the  dog.  Furious, 
the  old  hound  must  have  sprung  upon  the  eaves- 
dropper, who,  seizing  him  by  the  throat,  had  killed 
him  with  one  sledge-hammer  blow  of  the  fist.  Be- 
cause of  the  strength  necessary  to  make  such  an  act 
possible,  suspicion  fell  upon  the  blacksmith  of  the 
neighborhood  and  his  assistant.  But  they  were  able 
to  prove  an  alibi,  and  the  murderer  of  Sergius  Boris 
Best  could  not  be  found.  That  he  had  used  his  fist, 
and  not  a  knife,  was  the  only  comfort  Max  and  the 
boys  had  to  offer  me.  The  dog,  they  said,  had  died 
painlessly. 

We  buried  my  old  playmate  under  the  moaning 
pines,  in  a  spot  where  he  had  loved  to  stretch  himself 
on  hot  summer  noons. 

"Grieve  nae  mair  for  poor  Serge,  my  lam',"  said  my 
warm-hearted  nurse,  her  pleasant  voice  not  so  steady 

36 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

as  usual,  "for  you'll  meet  him  again,  one  time.  (His 
murderer  walks  accurst — his  doom  will  fall.)  For 
it's  I  that  believe  that  the  grand  old  hound,  wha  died 
doin'  his  duty  bravely,  wull  be  granted  to  stand  at 
heaven's  gate  to  welcome  his  little  Hope  Carmichael 
— when  she's  called  till  her  mansion  there!" 


37 


Ill 

It  was  early  June,  and  the  morning  of  my  betrothal 
day.  For  I  was  seventeen,  and  it  had  been  thought 
best  that  Max  and  I  should  be  formally  engaged — 
if  I  were  willing.  In  a  few  months  my  eighteenth 
birthday  would  arrive  when — according  to  the  plans 
made  years  before — we  were  to  be  married.  Max 
made  no  secret  of  his  wishes,  although,  because  it  was 
in  the  bond,  he  had  never  told  me  outright  that  he 
loved  me.  But  if  all  the  members  of  our  household 
knew  how  Max  felt,  no  one,  not  even  Katie,  could  be 
sure  of  my  ultimatum.  I  had  thought  it  only  fair 
that  Max  should  chose  for  himself,  and  not  be  tied 
down  by  old  arrangements  made  when  we  were  chil- 
dren. And,  in  order  to  give  him  a  sense  of  complete 
freedom,  I  had  pretended  to  care  no  more  for  him 
than  for  my  wild  cousins.  At  first  pride  had  sug- 
gested this  role,  then  the  love  of  justice,  and  lastly, 
when  it  became  evident  that  Max  had  eyes  for  me 
alone,  I  fear  a  wayward  spirit  prompted  my  manner 
of  affectionate  indifference.  Although  I  loved  him 
very  dearly,  and  secretly  thought  that  no  one  might 
compare  with  him,  I  enjoyed  the  admiration  I  re- 
ceived from  others;  amusing  myself,  in  childish 
fashion,  to  the  top  of  my  bent.  Aunt  Caro,  disap- 
proving, in  her  gentle  way,  of  the  early  marriage 
arranged  for  me,  managed  so  that  I  might  have  a 
little  gayety  by  allowing  me,  so  soon  as  I  was  sixteen, 
to  go  to  the  few  balls  and  parties  given  in  our  neigh- 
borhood. Mr.  Errol  scolded,  and  Max  remonstrated, 
in  vain.  Aunt  Caro  amiably  insisted  that  I  must 
have  early  what  all  my  friends  would  get  later,  a 

38 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

season  of  girlish  pleasure.  And  for  once  she  had 
Katie  on  her  side. 

"An'  it's  glad  I  am,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  to  see  you 
batin'  the  divil  around  the  bush !"  said  my  once  nurse. 
"  'Twould  be  a  shame,  thin,  I'm  thinkin',  did  our  Miss 
Hope  settle  down  marrit  and  a'  wi'out  a  few  hearts 
achin'  o'er  the  pain  o'  it.  Sure 't  will  do  Mr.  Max  nae 
harm  to  fight  for  her  favor — as  did  mony  a  gran' 
young  jantleman  for  her  mither's,  when  she  were  the 
beautiful  Mary  Yorke.  An'  I'm  no  sayin'  but  what 
you  yoursel',  Mrs.  Carmichael" — Katie  spoke  with 
good-natured  condescension — "may  ha'  had  ane  or 
twa  wearin'  the  willow  for  the  sake  o'  your  dark  een. 
For  some  do,  I  know,  prefer  a  black  eye  to  a  blue. 
(God,  maybe,  undershtandin'  why,  He  choosin'  to 
mak'  baith  kinds!)" 

Poor  Katie !  It  was  a  trial  to  her  that  I  had  so 
small  a  world  to  conquer.  It  was  only  in  summer 
and  during  the  winter  holidays  that  any  entertain- 
ments were  given.  The  conquests  made  by  my  blue 
eyes  were  not  so  many  as  my  doting  nurse  boasted, 
although  sufficient  in  number  to  make  Max  uneasy. 
I  later  regretted  my  waywardness.  But  I  was  a 
wilful,  overpetted  child. 

Mr.  Errol,  with  Max,  and  my  two  guardians — 
precise  legal  gentlemen — had  arrived  at  Moaning 
Pines  the  evening  before.  The  betrothal  was  to  be 
very  formal.  I  rather  dreaded  the  solemn  ceremony, 
but  not  so  much  as  I  feared  what  must  precede  it — 
Max's  informal  declaration.  Nervous  excitement 
over  this  kept  me  awake  half  the  night.  I  could  not 
understand  why.  It  seemed  absurd  that  what  I  had 
looked  forward  to  all  my  life,  my  real  engagement 
to  Max,  should  so  affect  me.  That  he  was  excited  was 
natural  enough  and,  so  I  thought,  quite  as  it  should 
be.  I  could  see  that  Aunt  Caro  and  Katie  enjoyed 
his  doubt  and  anxiety,  while  themselves  too  uncertain 

39 


THE   PRISOKEK   OF   ORNTTH   FARM 

of  what  my  decision  might  be  for  entire  ease  of 
mind. 

At  first,  being  quite  unaccustomed  to  lying  awake, 
I  found  pleasure  in  the  strange  sounds  and  silences 
of  the  late  night.  The  perfect  quiet,  broken  now  and 
again  by  the  fitful  sighing  of  the  pines  and  the  far- 
off  moan  of  the  breakers  on  the  bar ;  and  at  times,  as 
the  hours  slipped  past,  the  eerie  cry  of  some  uneasy 
night  bird  jarring  through  the  soft,  melancholy  ca- 
dences of  murmuring  sea  and  whispering  firs.  But 
as  the  night  wore  on  the  loss  of  sleep  began  to  tell 
upon  my  unwontedly  excited  nerves.  Old  tales  of 
weird  happenings,  stories  of  ghosts,  hobgoblins,  and 
werewolves,  followed  each  other  in  quick  succession 
— like  moving  figures  in  a  magic  lantern — across 
my  tired  brain.  When  toward  dawn  I  fell  into  a 
heavy  slumber,  it  was  nightmare  ridden. 

I  thought  that  I  was  in  the  life-boat  once  named 
for  me,  the  Hope,  that  had  drifted  ashore  to  tell  of 
shipwreck  when  I  was  a  tiny  child.  A  thick  fog 
hung  heavy  upon  boat  and  billows — great  oily-look- 
ing sea  swells,  over  which  the  Hope  slipped  helplessly, 
whither  I  did  not  know. 

I  was  not  alone.  In  the  prow  there  crouched  a 
young  girl,  richly  but  oddly  clad.  For  she  wore  a 
quaintly  fashioned  gown  of  blood-red  satin,  and 
around  her  graceful  throat  a  high,  stiff  ruff.  In  her 
beautiful  eyes  there  was  a  look  of  great  anguish  and 
the  terror  that  a  child  might  show  were  it  about  to 
be  done  to  death.  As  I  stared  at  the  lovely  white 
face,  showing  ghostlike  in  the  murky  light,  I  felt  so 
great  a  pity  that  I  forgot  my  own  peril.  As  I  would 
have  asked  her  who  she  was,  she  began  to  sing: 

"111  no  put  on  the  dowie  black, 

Nor  yet  the  dowie  brown, 
But  111  put  on  the  robes  o'  red 
To  sheen  thro'  Edinbruch  town." 

40 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Then  I  knew  that  I  was  looking  at  Mary  Hamil- 
ton. 

She  continued  singing,  but  she  changed  the  words 
of  the  verse  that  she  sang,  and  I  grew  faint  with 
dread : 

"Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries; 

The  nicht  she'll  hae  but  two; 
There  was  Mary  Beaton,  Mary  Seaton; 
And  there  was  me — arid  you." 

And  then,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  was  obliged  to  join 
in — to  sing  with  her : 

"O  a'  ye  mariners,  far  and  nearj 

That  sail  ayont  the  faem; 
O  dinna  let  our  kinsfolk  ken 
But  what  we  are  coming  hame." 

I  dreamed  that,  rebelling  against  this  fate,  I 
seized  the  ponderous  oars — unseen  till  then — and 
thrusting  them  through  the  rowlocks  began  to  urge 
the  boat  landward,  guided  by  the  low  muttering  of 
the  surges  on  the  beach.  It  was  with  exultation  that 
I  found  I  could  row  with  ease.  The  heavy  craft  sped 
over  the  oily  billows  like  an  arrow,  and  soon  I  saw 
lights  upon  the  distant  stretch  of  sand  toward  which 
we  were  hastening.  These  were  great  bonfires  shoot- 
ing up  snaky  tongues  of  flame.  Dark  shapes  flitted 
about,  feeding  the  fires.  I  thought  that  the  boys, 
my  cousins,  were  waiting  there  for  us — that  we  should 
soon  be  safe.  But  Mary  Hamilton,  lifting  her  white 
arms  in  warning,  cried  out  that  these  were  wreckers, 
and  the  friendly  blaze  but  a  lure. 

I  thought  that  I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  turn 
the  boat,  and  failed.  The  next  instant  I  was  telling 
my  beautiful  companion  not  to  fear,  since,  safe  be- 
neath the  dark  water,  my  fair  young  mother  lay 
sleeping.  We  would  go  to  her,  and  be  at  rest.  But 
Mary  Hamilton  looked  at  me  strangely,  pityingly. 

41 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FAKM 

"I  am  dead,"  she  whispered ;  "my  weird  is  dree'd." 

A  great  horror  came  upon  me,  a  loud  roaring 
filled  my  ears.  The  boat  was  among  the  breakers, 
surrounded  by  the  wreckers.  "Mother!"  I  cried, 
"O  mother !"  and  awoke. 

Katie  was  bending  over  me,  her  kind  face  full  of 
anxiety. 

"There,  there,  my  heart's  bairn,"  she  said  sooth- 
ingly, "dinna  greet !  Sure  the  ugly  dream's  gone 
now.  An'  look  what  I  found  forninst  the  treshold 
o'  your  door !"  She  laid  a  great  sheaf  of  the  beauti- 
ful purple  iris  on  my  pillow.  "And  this  bit  paper 
tied  till  it.  Open  it,  thin,  an'  read." 

I  blushed  as  I  recognized  the  handwriting,  and,  to 
please  my  dear  nurse,  read  the  verse  I  found  written 
there,  aloud: 

"O  flower  de  luce,  bloom  on;  and  let  the  river 

Linger  to  kiss  thy  feet! 

O  flower  of  song,  bloom  on,  and  make  forever 
The  world  more  fair  and  sweet." 

"Flower  o'  song !"  said  Katie,  looking  at  me  fondly, 
"an'  it's  right  well  he's  named  ye.  Yis,  Flower  o' 
song — and  our  ain  bonnie  bird !  'Fore  God,  an'  it's 
thankful  all  should  be  that  you'll  bide  at  name,  in 
the  home  nest,  instead  o'  marryin'  some  stranger  lad 
wha  would  be  afther  carryin'  away  our  Hope.  See, 
thin,  what  Mr.  Errol  himsel'  sends  ye  for  the  ceree- 
mony  of  betrothal — he  brought  it  wi'  him  last 
night." 

She  opened  a  box  that  lay  on  a  chair  near  the  door, 
and  taking  from  it  a  mass  of  lace,  shook  it  out.  I  sat 
up  in  bed,  my  eyes  wide  with  admiration. 

"Yis,"  announced  Katie  proudly,  "woven  specially 
for  Miss  Mary  Carmichael,  wi'  a  pattern  o'  her  ain 
flowers  rinnin'  here  an'  there  an'  everywhires  t' rough- 
out.  Mornin'-glories ! — a  many  of  thim.  But  'tis 

42 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

like  a  spider's  web,  or  the  work  o'  the  frost  on  our 
winder  panes!  Fair  lovely — an'  no  mistake!  To 
be  worn  over  a  slip  of  white  satin,  or  blue,  if  your 
fancy  pleases."  She  held  up  the  wonderful  flower- 
woven  gossamer  and  gazed  meditatively  at  it,  her 
lips  pursed  up.  "Belike,"  she  continued,  musingly, 
"belike  Mr.  Errol — wha  is  a  wily-  though  gran'- 
hearted  jantleman — just  said  to  himself  that  it  wud 
do  nae  harm  to  mak'  sure  o'  your  answer  till  Mr. 
Max  by  prisintin'  you  wi'  this.  A  gown  that  the 
Fairy  Queen  hersel'  might  be  fine  and  proud  to  wear. 
A  kind  o'  lure,  I'm  thinkin',  till  our  Flower  o'  song ! 
For  mark  my  words,  my  bairn,  the  men  be  iver  the 
same.  Yis,  rich  or  poor,  gentle  or  simple,  good  or 
evil,  they  strive  iver  to  gain  their  way  wi'  us  poor 
women  i'  the  same  fashion — wi'  gifts  and  flattery, 
flattery  an'  gifts!  You'll  mind,  thin,  the  Serpent 
an'  poor  witless  Eve  ?  'Twas  him  gave  her  thim 
apples.  (In  his  ain  fashion — wi'  specious  words  o' 
guile;  not  havin'  arms  nor  hands  he  couldna  just 
break  'em  offen  the  Tree.)  Mr.  Errol  kens  weel  a 
Yorke  wouldna  tak'  a  gift  falsely.  Sure  he  knows 
that  an'  you  accept  it,  it  means  'yis.'  But  there's  ane 
thing  he  doesna  ken  and  that  I,  God  forgi'e  me,  was 
near  hand  forgetting,  and  that  is  that  the  Yorkes — 
ride  straight." 

Katie  lifted  her  head  proudly  and,  looking  me  in 
the  eyes,  said  steadily :  "I  ken  now  what  I  might  ha' 
knowed  lang  syne,  if  I  hadna  been  an  old  foolish 
body.  If  ye  hadna  been  for  sayin'  'yis,'  Mr.  Max 
would  ha'  been  let  to  know  it  before  this  day.  An' 
he  up  by  four  the  morn,  Tummas  says,  saddlin' 
his  ain  horse  an'  ridin'  the  country  o'er  for  hours !" 
A  delighted  smile,  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  re- 
press, irradiated  her  strong  face.  "I'm  thinkin'  he's 
no  so  easy  as  to  what  the  day'll  bring  forth !  Aweel, 
aweel,  it  does  a  young  man  no  harm  to  be  a  bit 

43 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNTTH   FARM 

#' 

anxious  an'  downhearted.  I'd  no  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry,  my  lam',  to  mak  him  o'er  proud  o'  himsel'. 
But  wha  am  I,  thin,  to  be  givin'  counsel  to  the 
daughter  of  Miss  Mary  Yorke!  Born  Carmichael 
you  are,  Miss  Hope,  and  I'm  no  gainsayin'  it;  but 
fra'  the  crown  o'  your  golden  head  to  the  soles  o'  your 
bonnie  feet  ye  are  just  a  Yorke.  Wi'  a  knowledge 
o'  hearts  and  horses  in  your  blood  that  taches  you 
how  to  win  the  ane  an'  manage  the  ither !  And  now 
you'd  best  get  up  or  you'll  be  late  till  your  breakfast 
— an'  that  wud  niver  do  wid  Mr.  Errol  and  the  twa 
strange  jantlemen  here " 

Wild  Will,  dominated  as  always  by  a  spirit  of 
mischief,  saw  to  it  that  Max  had  no  interview  with 
me  that  morning.  He  was  by  my  side  constantly, 
showing  an  unswerving  devotion  that  amused  Mr. 
Errol  and  delighted  Aunt  Caro.  Prompted  by  their 
wild  brother,  Ronald  and  Jamie  followed  suit,  over- 
whelming me  with  their  audacious  laughter-provok- 
ing attentions.  But  Max,  careless  as  ever  of  on-look- 
ers,  put  an  end  to  their  nonsense  after  luncheon 
when  he  asked  me — before  them  all — to  spend  the 
afternoon  with  him.  We  were  assembled  upon  the 
veranda.  The  silence  that  fell  upon  the  gay  little 
company  told  me  that  my  answer  would  mean  every- 
thing to  them.  Mr.  Errol,  Aunt  Caro,  the  two 
lawyers,  and  my  four  cousins  watched  me  with 
breathless  interest,  forgetting  their  manners  in  their 
eagerness  to  hear  my  reply. 

I  felt  the  hot  color  sweep  across  my  face  from  brow 
to  chin,  my  heart  beat  to  suffocation.  Unconsciously, 
I  rose  to  my  feet.  Then,  true  to  the  traditions  of 
the  Yorkes — rode  straight.  Although  I  could  not, 
somehow,  raise  my  voice  much  above  a  whisper,  I 
am  sure  my  answer  was  distinctly  heard.  Max, 
stepping  quickly  forward,  took  my  face  between  his 
strong  hands,  and,  after  gazing  deep  into  my  eyes 

44 


THE    PBISOKER    OF    OKNTTH   FARM 

as  if  to  make  sure  that  my  heart  had  spoken,  kissed 
me  on  the  lips. 

"I  thank  God  that  it  is  yes,"  he  said  simply. 

That  was  our  real  betrothal.  But  in  the  evening, 
to  please  dear  Mr.  Errol,  we  went  through  with  the 
formal  ceremony,  just  as  it  had  been  planned  for  us 
years  before.  I  wore  the  beautiful  lace  frock  over 
its  slip  of  white  satin.  About  my  throat  Aunt 
Caro  clasped  my  mother's  string  of  pearls ;  the  boys 
gave  me  a  morning-glory  fashioned  of  sapphires 
for  my  hair;  and  Max  placed  a  splendid  sapphire, 
set  in  diamonds,  upon  my  finger — my  betrothal 
ring. 

We  were  a  gay  little  party  enough  when,  all  for- 
mality ended,  I  was  called  upon  to  sing.  Each  asked 
for  his  or  her  favorite  ballad ;  my  guardians — grown 
as  light-hearted  as  we — called  for  many. 

"And  now,  Hope,  my  little  daughter,"  said  Mr. 
Errol,  smiling  upon  me  fondly  as  he  emphasized  my 
new  title,  "sing  'Angels,  ever  bright  and  fair/  and 
then  we  old  folks  will  have  had  our  share  of  your 
evening." 

I  sang  Handel's  soul-lifting  melody;  sang  it 
gravely,  with  a  solemn  ecstasy  thrilling  through  the 
words,  through  the  swinging  cadences.  But  this  was 
because,  born  a  singer,  I  unconsciously  lent  myself  to 
the  interpretation  of  the  thoughts,  the  feeling,  the 
inspiration  of  the  composer.  In  reality  I  was  so 
very  happy  that  I  did  not  in  the  least  realize  what 
I  was  singing.  I  was  a  trifle  awestruck  when  I 
thought  how  different  all  might  have  been  had  either 
Max  or  I  chanced  to  care  for  some  one  else.  I  looked 
with  deep  affection  at  the  family  group  surrounding 
me.  What  a  fortunate  girl  I  was,  I  thought,  and 
sang: 

"Angels  ever  bright  and  fair, 
Take,  oh,  take  me,  to  your  care." 

45 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Max  and  I  lingered  long  on  the  veranda.  It  was 
nearly  twelve  when  I  stole  softly  into  my  room. 
Katie,  tired  out  by  the  day's  excitement,  had  fallen 
asleep  on  the  lounge  where  she  had  sat  down  to  wait 
for  me.  I  did  not  wake  her,  but  set  about  preparing 
for  the  night  without  her  help.  I  unclasped  my 
pearls,  took  the  morning-glory  from  my  hair,  and, 
first  pressing  my  lips  to  the  sapphire — September's 
jewel — that  gleamed  upon  my  hand,  slipped  it  off. 
There  was  no  light  save  moonlight  in  the  room.  I 
put  my  trinkets  down  softly  upon  the  dressing-table, 
then  moving  quietly  to  the  window,  leaned  far  out. 

The  moon  hung  low  in  the  west;  in  a  half  hour 
she  would  be  gone.  No  wind  was  stirring  and  the 
pines,  their  tops  softened  into  velvet  by  the  moonlight, 
were  unwontedly  silent.  It  was  as  if  they  were  listen- 
ing to  the  soft  voice  of  the  sea,  that  in  the  deep  si- 
lence of  the  night  made  itself  heard,  calling,  calling. — 
And  presently  this  call  was  answered  both  by  tide 
and  river,  that  together,  as  by  one  impulse,  turned, 
hastening  to  obey. 

A  desire  to  see  their  waters  flowing  swiftly  sea- 
ward, shimmering  under  the  moon's  rays,  took  pos- 
session of  me.  Accustomed  to  following  my  impulses, 
and  thinking  it  could  do  no  harm  were  I  to  yield  to 
this  one — although  never  before  had  I  been  out  alone 
at  so  late  an  hour — I  crept  noiselessly  from  the  room, 
stole  downstairs,  and  opening  one  of  the  drawing- 
room  windows,  went  out  into  the  night.  As  I  left  the 
veranda  and  crossed  the  short  lawn  between  the  house 
and  the  little  wood  of  pines,  I  looked  back.  The 
upper  windows  were  gayly  lighted ;  there  was  plenty 
of  time  to  run  to  the  river's  edge  and  back  before  the 
house  was  dark.  I  felt  quite  safe ;  the  river  was  but 
a  stone's  throw  away.  But  I  shivered  a  little  as  I  en- 
tered the  black  shadow  of  the  trees.  I  had  forgotten 
to  bring  a  wrap  and  my  gown  was  open  at  the  throat. 

46 


THE    PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

I  lifted  the  train  from  my  arm,  where  I  had  thrown 
it  to  keep  it  from  the  dewy  grass,  and  drew  it  over 
my  shoulders ;  then  hastened  along  the  path,  slippery 
with  pine  needles  and  hardly  discernible  under  the 
gloom  of  the  thick  branches.  How  fragrant  the  cool 
air  was,  sweet  with  the  wholesome  odor  of  the  pines 
and  the  crisp  salt  tang  of  the  sea ! 

The  spot  toward  which  I  was  hastening  was  where 
a  little  dock  had  been  constructed,  just  two  planks 
upon  rough  supports,  leading  out  into  the  water. 
Here  a  heavy  dory  was  always  kept,  used  only  by  the 
workmen  on  their  errands  to  the  town  below.  I  walked 
out  upon  the  dock,  wishing  that  its  few  boards  were 
longer.  If  only  I  might  look  down  upon  the  rush- 
ing river,  darting  now  like  a  silver  arrow  seaward. 
The  dory  had  not  been  pulled  close  beside  the  small 
pier;  only  its  bow  was  drawn  in  and  rested  against 
the  planking,  the  body  and  stern  projected  into  the 
stream.  I  thought  that  I  might  allow  myself  the 
pleasure  of  stepping  in  and,  seated  far  aft,  be  almost 
in  the  space  of  hurrying  moonlit  water.  Near 
enough  to  enjoy  its  charm,  while  out  of  reach  of  its 
strong,  dangerous  currents.  To  suppose  that  a  boat, 
simply  because  it  was  a  boat,  would  bring  me  into 
danger,  was  but  foolish  superstition.  Foolish,  yet 
sweet,  since  it  meant  that  my  kinsfolk  loved  me  very 
dearly.  But  I  was  alone,  no  one  to  see  and  worry 
over  me,  I  would  just  step  into  the  clumsy  tub  for  a 
moment.  Then  I  paused,  unwilling  to  do  what  might 
mean  disloyalty. 

I  was  turning  away  when  I  saw  something  gleam- 
ing in  the  water,  just  beyond  the  dory.  Something 
that  floated — now  seen  in  a  stray  moonbeam,  now 
but  a  dark  patch  upon  the  ripples.  I  forgot  every- 
thing save  my  desire  to  see  the  flowers  or  water-weeds 
that  lay  cradled  so  near.  I  sprang  quickly  into  the 
boat,  and  making  my  way  to  the  stern,  looked  over. 

47 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNTTH   FARM 

To  my  surprise  I  found  the  object  was  fastened  to 
the  boat  by  a  rope  of  braided  rushes.  I  recognized 
Jamie's  handiwork,  and,  wondering  what  he  had 
tethered  so  carefully,  undid  the  knotted  end  and 
pulled  in  my  prize.  As  I  drew  it  along  the  surface 
of  the  water  I  saw  that  it  was  a  wreath,  woven  of 
ferns  and  the  purple  flower-de-luce.  A  sudden  rush 
of  tears  blinded  me,  for  I  knew  Jamie  intended  it 
for  the  grave  of  Sergius  Boris — Best. 

I  strove  to  find  my  handkerchief,  and  in  my  care- 
less haste  turned  too  quickly;  the  chain  of  rushes 
slipped  from  my  hand,  and  wreath  and  slender  rope 
fell  back  into  the  stream.  Conscience  stricken,  I 
leaned  far  over  the  stern  trying  to  regain  Jamie's 
treasure.  I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  grasp  the 
wreath,  succeeded,  drew  back  aglow  with  delight. 
I  would  ref  asten  the  chain — then  hurry  home.  With 
dripping  fingers  I  tied  a  clumsy  knot  and  rose  to  leave 
the  boat. 

But  it  was  no  longer  beside  its  little  pier,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  moaning  pines.  Who  had  last  used 
it  had  forgotten  to  fasten  it  securely,  and  my  effort 
to  reclaim  the  flowers  had  set  it  free.  Already  there 
was  a  space  of  black  water  between  its  prow  and  the 
landing-place.  As,  realizing  the  need  for  instant 
action,  I  hastened  forward,  preparing  to  spring  ashore, 
the  swift  tide  caught  the  clumsy  craft,  swung  it 
sharply  around,  and  in  another  instant  it  was  in 
mid-stream,  borne  along  like  a  feather  toward  the 
narrow  passage  beneath  the  old  chain  bridge,  whence 
came  the  roar  of  the  torrent  as  it  rushed  seaward. 

The  quick  turn  of  the  dory  as  the  swirl  of  the  mad 
current  seized  it  would  have  thrown  me  down,  per- 
haps overboard,  had  it  not  been  for  my  circus  train- 
ing. Although  because  of  this  I  kept  my  poise  for 
the  moment,  I  dared  not  trust  to  my  feet,  but  hastily 
crouching  down  made  ready  for  the  coming  rush 

48 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORKETH   FARM 

beneath  the  bridge.  The  low  moon  illuminated  but 
faintly  the  miniature  rapids.  Did  the  boat  pass  these 
in  safety  it  might  drift  ashore  below,  where  the 
stream  in  broadening  gained  placidity.  Above  the 
bridge,  as  it  tore  along,  it  seemed  like  a  wilful  wild 
creature,  and  the  noise  of  its  hemmed-in  waters  a 
snarl  of  threatening  protest.  On  one  side  a  giant 
boulder  lifted  to  the  bridge  its  slippery  shoulder,  as 
support — a  mimic  precipice.  On  the  other,  rocky 
ledges  fretted  the  hurrying  water  into  froth.  I  braced 
myself  for  the  jar  of  sudden  shipwreck — and  was 
swept  beneath. 

The  dory  passed  so  close  to  the  boulder  that  a  fern, 
which  had  found  foothold  in  some  unseen  crevice, 
drew  its  graceful  leaves — wet  with  spray — caress- 
ingly across  my  cheek.  My  ears  were  deafened  by 
the  sound  of  the  brawling  water.  The  chill  was  in- 
tense. Then  the  boat  was  out  again  in  the  waning 
moonlight,  and  I  sighed  with  relief,  thinking  the 
worst  danger  past. 

There  were  no  oars  in  the  boat.  These  were  always 
kept  concealed  under  low-growing  bushes  near  the 
little  dock.  For  a  few  moments  after  passing  under 
the  bridge  I  was  at  ease  about  myself,  but  anxiety 
for  those  at  home  began  to  harry  me.  If  Katie  woke 
to  find  me  gone  she  would  be  almost  crazed  with 
terror.  And  the  boys — and  Max  ?  As  these  thoughts 
began  to  crowd  my  mind,  and  imagination  painted 
vivid  pictures  of  what  might  even  now  be  taking 
place  at  Moaning  Pines,  I  scanned  the  shores  with 
eager  eyes  to  see  if  the  boat  were  approaching  either 
side  of  the  river.  But  as  the  stream  grew  quieter 
the  land  receded,  and  soon  lengths  of  gleaming  water 
separated  the  northern  from  the  southern  shore. 
The  dory,  swung  this  way  or  that  as  the  current 
willed,  was  now  and  again  turned  completely  around. 
But  whether  it  floated  stern  forward  or  bow  on,  it 

49 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

kept  in  mid-stream  and  drifted  steadily  eastward 
toward  the  ever-calling  sea. 

Presently  houses  began  to  show  dark  against  the 
sky  to  the  south.  The  boat  would  soon  be  opposite 
the  old  seaport  town.  The  sight  of  these  distant 
irregular  outlines,  silhouetted  against  the  horizon, 
brought  me  to  a  sudden,  to  a  dreadful  realization  of 
my  helplessness.  I  had  been  so  sure  that  the  dory 
would  float  ashore  on  the  sedgy  meadows.  My  chief 
fear  had  been  of  the  walk  back,  alone ;  my  greatest 
anxiety,  for  the  terror  of  those  at  home.  Now 

I  drew  in  my  breath  carefully,  following  the  in- 
structions of  my  singing  teacher  as  never  before, 
then  with  all  my  strength  called  for  help.  Again, 
and  yet  again,  I  cried  out,  flinging  my  voice  far. 
Then  I  sat  silent — listening.  And  from  the  ware- 
houses on  the  river's  edge — warehouses  neglected, 
long  disused,  since  the  commerce  of  the  old  town  was 
dead — the  echo  of  my  appeal  was  flung  back  to  me, 
musical,  mocking.  There  followed  the  deep  silence 
of  the  night,  broken  only  by  the  lapping  of  the  water 
against  the  drifting  boat  and  the  voice  of  the  sea 
from  the  bar. 

Although  accustomed  all  my  life  to  facing  danger, 
.to  the  taking  of  risks  in  the  ring  and  when  riding 
cross-country  with  my  reckless  cousins,  I  had  never 
been  in  such  peril  before  alone.  And  while  a  run- 
away horse  had  never  daunted  me,  a  runaway  boat 
was  something  I  did  not  understand.  I  felt  com- 
pletely helpless — ignorant,  desolate.  Once  more  I 
lifted  my  voice  in  long-sustained  cries  for  help,  and 
again  the  echo  only  returned  from  the  sleeping 
town.  Then  I  heard,  far  to  the  northward,  an  an- 
swering cry.  But  even  while  my  heart  was  throbbing 
with  the  joy  of  reawakened  hope,  I  knew  that  the 
shrill  sound  came  from  the  brazen  throat  of  a  loco- 
motive. Another  instant  and  the  night  express,  the 

50 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

•windows  of  its  cars  alight,  swept  across  the  long  rail- 
road bridge  beneath  which  I  had  but  just  drifted, 
and  rushed  on  through  the  town. 

I  struggled  to  regain  courage,  telling  myself  that 
Max  and  the  boys  would  soon  come.  I  scanned  the 
broad  river  with  such  intensity  that  my  vision 
blurred.  At  last  I  did  not  know  what  I  saw  or  what 
I  did  not  see,  imagination  playing  strange  tricks  with 
my  tired  eyes.  I  called  for  aid  unwearyingly,  per- 
sistently, until  great  sobs  choked  me  dumb.  The 
moon  had  set,  only  the  stars  remained.  I  was  far  past 
the  town.  I  could  not  see  the  long  sand  bar  that 
stretched  almost  across  the  river's  mouth,  but  each 
moment  I  heard  more  clearly  the  rhythmical  beat  of 
the  waves  as  they  broke  upon  its  farther  shore. 

The  channel  between  the  end  of  this  sand  spit  and 
the  northern  bank  was  very  narrow,  and  close  by  the 
low  yellow  dunes  a  ramshackle  summer  hotel  had 
been  built.  As  I  neared  this  I  made  a  desperate 
effort,  overcame  my  sobbing,  and  cried  out  once  more. 
My  voice  sounded  unnatural,  so  weak,  so  forlorn. 
No  answer  came.  If  the  boat  would  but  approach 
either  bank  I  might,  I  thought,  jump  ashore.  I 
stood  up  on  the  seat,  poising  myself  lightly  as  when 
riding,  and  prepared  to  spring.  But  the  dory,  like 
some  dull  live  creature,  kept  obstinately  in  the 
middle  of  the  short  channel.  The  long  swell  of  the 
ocean  caught  it,  slid  it  outward. 

I  sank  down  lower,  lower.  Flinging  my  arms 
across  the  seat  I  pillowed  my  weary  head  upon  them 
and  fell  to  crying  hopelessly,  like  a  frightened  child, 
for  Katie — for  Max. 

The  far-off  rote  of  the  surges  on  the  shore  roused 
me.  I  was  already  a  long  distance  from  the  land. 
I  sat  up  and  looked  about  me.  The  stars  had  grown 
dim.  I  could  see  but  a  short  distance;  the  black 

51 


THE    PHISOKER    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

water  and  the  horizon  line  merged.  My  pretty  frock 
was  wet  to  the  touch,  my  bare  throat  like  ice.  I 
drew  the  pins  from  my  hair,  and  although  it,  too, 
was  damp,  its  soft  warmth  as  it  fell  about  my  shoul- 
ders brought  comfort.  In  a  very  short  time  the 
darkness  increased,  the  stars  disappeared,  and  all 
the  world  was  blotted  out  from  me  by  a  heavy  fog. 

I  had  been  certain  of  being  seen  and  rescued 
directly  daylight  came,  so  many  fishing  smacks 
haunted  the  coast,  besides  the  chance  steamers  and 
trading  vessels.  But  their  presence  now  added  to  my 
peril.  By  and  by  I  heard  the  hoarse  note  of  fog- 
horns uttering  their  cries  of  warning.  They  sounded 
now  far  away,  again  so  near  that  I  called  out  in 
answer.  Once  or  twice  I  was  sure  that  I  had  been 
heard.  There  came  the  sound  of  voices,  men's  voices, 
of  talking  close  at  hand.  I  listened  intently,  miser- 
ably, feverishly,  till  at  last  I  was  convinced  that  my 
own  wild  heart  throbs,  and  the  slap,  slap  of  the 
waves  as  the  dory  slid  heavily  over  them,  were  the 
only  sounds  to  be  heard. 

My  eyes  ached  with  staring  into  the  blackness, 
colored  lights  danced  before  them.  My  throat  was 
dry,  parched,  I  had  cried  out  for  help  so  long.  My 
head  was  on  fire,  yet  I  shivered  with  the  cold. 
Strange  fancies  began  to  take  possession  of  my  tired 
brain.  I  thought  of  Mary  Hamilton — was  she,  even 
now,  seated  in  the  prow  ?  How  had  my  mother  felt, 
I  wondered,  as  she  sank  beneath  the  dark  water? 
Had  her  last  thought  been  of  me,  her  baby  ?  I  com- 
menced the  prayer  for  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea 
in  ships,  the  prayer  that — because  of  my  mother's 
fate — I  had  been  taught  to  say  morning  and  evening 
since  I  could  first  lisp  the  words. 

"O  eternal  God,"  I  whispered  piteously,  "who 
alone  spreadest  out  the  heavens,  and  rulest  the  raging 

of  the  sea " 

52 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  became  silent.  Sobs  choked  me.  Katie,  my 
Katie,  was  even  now  praying  thus  for  me.  But  pres- 
ently I  was  able  to  repeat  devoutly  that  appeal  in- 
tended for  those  in  immediate  peril,  beginning: 
"O  most  powerful  and  glorious  Lord  God,  at  whose 
command  the  winds  blow,  and  lift  up  the  waves  of 
the  sea  and  who  stillest  the  rage  thereof " 

So  the  night  wore  on.  No  sleep  came  to  bring 
even  a  moment's  forgetfulness.  But  before  the  dawn 
appeared,  turning  the  impenetrable  black  veil  of  fog 
into  a  luminous  gray  shadow,  I  had  fallen  into  a 
half  stupor.  From  this  I  was  roused  at  sunrise  by 
a  chill  breeze  from  the  east  that  rent  the  vapor,  driv- 
ing long  mist  wreaths  before  it  and  disclosing  stretches 
of  pale  blue  water.  I  sat  up,  staring  dully,  and  saw 
close  above  me,  almost  upon  me,  the  slippery  side  of 
a  vessel.  I  strove  to  rise;  my  brain  reeled  and  I 
could  not.  I  moistened  my  parched  throat  and  cried 
out;  my  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  low.  But,  as  if 
in  answer,  two  men  leaned  over  the  gunwale  and 
looked  down.  They  seemed  to  fear  me,  for  they  drew 
back,  muttering  to  each  other  and  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross.  The  dory  was  slipping,  slipping 
past 

I  held  out  my  arms  imploringly.  "Help,  oh, 
help!"  I  wailed. 

The  men  were  now  joined  by  another,  a  tall  man, 
with  rough  brown  hair  and  keen  gray  eyes.  I 
recognized  him,  and  crying  "Pluto !"  rose  to  my  feet, 
only  to  fall  forward  unconscious. 


53 


IV 

The  dory  struck  against  the  larger  vessel  as  I  fell, 
and  I  was  severely  bruised.  Of  this,  however,  I  knew 
nothing  for  some  hours,  as  the  chill  of  the  long  night, 
the  exposure  to  the  fog,  and  the  intense  nervous  ex- 
citement brought  on  fever.  I  fancied  always  that 
I  was  in  danger  of  shipwreck — either  drifting  upon 
lonely,  rock-bound  islets,  or  rolling  ashore — swung 
high  on  gigantic  surges — toward  stretches  of  sandy 
beaches  where  wreckers  lighted  their  beacons  of  de- 
struction. Mary  Hamilton  was  my  constant  com- 
panion, her  warning  cry  coming  ever  just  too  late 
to  save.  And  the  nightmare  ended  only  to  recreate 
itself — a  phoenix  of  fresh  horror  rising  from  the 
ashes  of  the  old. 

'  When  I  regained  consciousness  I  thought  that  I 
was  still  in  the  dory,  and  I  dared  not  open  my  eyes. 
I  felt  weak  and  faint.  My  head  and  side  ached;  I 
was  as  if  steeped  in  dull,  sickening  pain.  Then  I 
became  aware  that  I  was  in  a  bed,  and  clad  in  a 
garment  of  coarse  cotton.  But  the  swinging  motion 
and  the  plash,  plash  of  water  against  a  boat's  side 
convinced  me  that  I  was  yet  adrift.  Then  I  heard 
some  one  moving  near  me.  I  held  my  breath,  listen- 
ing intently.  Was  it  Mary  Hamilton  in  her  blood- 
red  satin  ?  Silence  again,  broken  in  another  moment 
by  a  subdued  cough.  A  rush  of  joy  sent  the  blood 
surging  through  my  veins.  Was  Katie  with  me? 
Was  I  safe  at  last  ?  I  opened  my  eyes. 

I  was  in  the  lower  berth  of  a  small  cabin.  The 
upper  berth  and  the  curtains  had  been  taken  away. 
The  little  room  was  simply  fitted  up  and  scrupu- 

54 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   FARM 

lously  clean.  The  glass  of  the  port-hole  was  open, 
its  curtain  drawn,  making  a  dull  green  twilight, 
pleasant  to  weary  eyes.  Upon  a  small  lounge  sat  a 
woman,  darning  a  coarse  woollen  sock.  She  was 
short,  and  squarely  built;  her  flat  face  swarthy,  her 
black  hair  shiny  and  very  straight.  I  saw  that  she 
was  part  Indian,  a  half-breed,  and  I  remembered 
the  men  who  had  looked  at  me  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel  before  I  fell.  I  realized  where  I  was,  and  won- 
dered how  long  I  had  been  lying  there.  I  spoke. 

"Are  you  taking  me  home  ?"  I  asked,  and  I  tried 
to  sit  up.  But  pain  and  the  swinging  motion  made 
me  giddy.  I  sank  back. 

The  woman  did  not  answer.  She  stared  at  me 
stolidly  for  a  moment,  then  left  the  cabin.  Disap- 
pointment brought  the  big  tears.  I  closed  my  eyes 
tightly,  forcing  them  back.  I  must  be  brave.  But 
the  tears  were  so  tiresome,  coming  thick  and  fast. 
And  I  had  no  handkerchief!  I  felt  childishly  ag- 
grieved at  this  lack.  Katie  always  tucked  one  under 
my  pillow.  As,  because  of  this  fancied  neglect,  sobs 
began  to  rise,  my  want  was  supplied.  A  handker- 
chief, fragrant  with  cologne,  was  placed  in  my  hand, 
and  I  felt  a  firm  touch  upon  my  wrist.  I  dried  my 
eyes  hastily.  The  man  whom  I  called  Pluto  was 
beside  me  and  was  feeling  my  pulse.  I  was  very 
glad  to  see  him.  He  seemed  an  old  friend.  I  looked 
up  gratefully. 

"You  are  taking  me  home  ?"  I  said. 

He  smiled  kindly,  and  strove  to  soften  his  harsh 
voice  as  he  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "Yes,  dear 
child,"  he  said. 

"And  I  do  not  know  your  name,"  I  murmured. 
My  voice  was  strangely  weak;  it  annoyed  me. 

"My  name  is  Rollis  Lannion,"  he  said. 

"Aunt  Caro— and " 

"I  have  telegraphed  her,"  he  interrupted.  "I  sent 
55 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

a  man  ashore  at  once  to  get  word  to  her  of  your 
safety.  And  now  you  are  not  to  worry,  but  just  lie 
still  and  dream  of  pleasant  things — of  birds  and 
flowers."  He  smiled  again,  and  I  caught  myself 
wishing  that  his  teeth  were  not  so  big  and  white. 
"Your  fever  is  gone,"  he  continued,  "and  I  have 
some  nice  broth  for  you.  See,  here  it  is !" 

The  woman  entered,  carrying  a  tray  on  which  was 
a  bowl  of  blue  china  filled  with  the  steaming  liquid. 
Mr.  Lannion  took  a  napkin  from  the  tray  and  him- 
self spread  it  carefully  over  me;  then  he  fed  me, 
spoonful  by  spoonful.  The  broth  was  very  nice,  of 
chicken,  with  rice  in  it.  I  could  take  but  little,  and 
he  looked  grave  over  my  inability  to  swallow  easily. 
I  made  a  great  effort  to  hide  my  lack  of  appetite,  since 
it  seemed  to  distress  him. 

"Just  one  spoonful  more,"  he  urged  coaxingly, 
when  I  at  last  refused.  (He  held  the  spoon  close 
to  my  lips,  as  though  he  would  persuade  a  captious 
child.)  "Just  one  little  sip — it  is  so  good.  I  had 
it  put  in  this  pretty  bowl  for  you — with  its  blue 
pagodas  and  quaint  figures." 

"No,"  I  said,  pushing  it  away  gently,  "no.  It  is 
nice,  and  you  are  kind — but  I  am  so  tired.  When 
is  Aunt  Caro  coming?  And — and  Katie?" 

The  woman  had  remained  in  the  adjoining  cabin 
— the  main  cabin — while  her  master  cared  for  me. 
She  now  re-entered  and  carried  the  tray  away.  Mr. 
Lannion  taking  my  hands  in  his,  began  to  stroke  them 
gently.  There  was  something  very  soothing  in  his 
firm  touch;  something  rhythmical  in  the  slow  even 
movement.  His  hands  were  large  and  powerful,  long- 
jointed,  the  knuckles  developed,  the  finger  tips  square. 
Because  of  my  own  athletic  training,  I  noted  his 
splendid  physical  condition.  He  was  sinewy,  vigor- 
ous, superbly  muscular — not  a  spare  inch  of  flesh  on 
him,  as  the  boys  would  have  said. 

56 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKN1TH   FARM 

As  he  continued  to  stroke  my  hands  and  wrists 
I  grew  oddly  dreamy.  His  gray  eyes  looked  steadily 
into  mine,  but  this  did  not  embarrass  me.  No,  I 
stared  reflectively  up  at  him,  as  he  bent  over  me, 
wondering  at  the  greenish  glint  in  those  strangely 
narrowing  pupils.  Were  they  narrowing — or  did  I 
only  imagine — ah ! 

I  started  violently.  A  thought  stung  me  back  into 
the  consciousness  I  was  so  rapidly  losing. 

"Jamie's  wreath  ?"  I  questioned  eagerly.    "Lost  ?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  I  wailed,  "so  sorry,  so  very  sorry." 
Again  my  tears  began  to  flow. 

Mr.  Lannion  dried  my  eyes  gently.  He  looked 
distressed.  He  called  to  the  woman,  speaking  in  a 
language  that  I  did  not  understand — the  patois  of 
the  French-Canadians.  She  brought  a  bottle  of 
cologne  and  with  this  he  bathed  my  forehead,  while 
he  tried  to  comfort  me. 

"You  shall  have  as  many  wreaths  of  flowers  as 
you  wish,"  he  said,  "only  you  must  not  fret,  but  try 
to  sleep,  and  grow  well  and  strong.  Loison  shall  sing 
to  you — an  Indian  lullaby." 

He  spoke  to  the  half-breed,  and  she  commenced  to 
chant  strange  unfamiliar  words  in  a  plaintive  minor 
key.  Mr.  Lannion  again  stroked  my  hands  and 
wrists  firmly,  steadily,  keeping  his  gray-green  eyes 
fixed  upon  mine.  Soon  the  chanting  seemed  to  come 
from  a  great  distance;  the  strange  eyes  looked  upon 
me  from  out  of  a  mist.  I  slept. 

The  fever  did  not  return,  and  as  I  was  a  healthy 
young  creature — sound,  wind  and  limb — before  two 
days  had  passed  I  felt  quite  myself  again.  I  was 
not  allowed  to  leave  my  berth,  however,  and  Mr. 
Lannion  persisted  in  treating  me  as  though  I  were 
still  ill.  As  I  was  shy  about  questioning  him  in  re- 
gard to  my  return  home,  not  liking  to  be  a  weari- 

57 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

some  as  well  as  an  unlooked-for  passenger,  I  said 
nothing  of  my  homesickness  until  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day.  Then  my  patience  gave  way. 

Mr.  Lannion  had  come  to  pay  me  his  usual  even- 
ing visit.  He  had  seated  himself  upon  the  little 
sofa  near  the  open  port-hole  and  looked  through  it 
as  he  talked  to  me.  The  sea  was  in  gentle  humor. 
Gay  little  waves  rippled  across  its  moonlit  surface. 
The  vessel  moved  quietly,  the  breeze  being  only  strong 
enough  to  fill  its  sails. 

"There  is  just  enough  wind  to-night,"  said  my 
companion.  "You  will  be  gently  rocked  to  sleep. 
I  fear  you  would  never  make  a  good  sailor,  even  if 
you  spent  a  year  afloat." 

"Why  am  I  still  here  ?"  I  asked  impetuously.  "It 
seems  to  me  we  are  a  long  time  in  arriving  at  Moan- 
ing Pines." 

"I  am  taking  you  to  Boston,"  was  the  quiet  an- 
swer. "We  shall  be  there  very  soon." 

"Why — "  I  began,  and  then  stopped.  If  my  kind 
host  had  been  on  his  way  to  Boston  when  he  picked 
me  up,  I  ought  not  to  expect  him  to  retrace  his 
journey.  Yet  surely  we  had  had  more  than  sufficient 
time  to  reach  Boston. 

"This  boat  does  not  belong  to  me,"  Mr.  Lannion 
went  on  when  I  failed  to  continue  speaking;  "it 
has  only  been  lent  me  by  a  friend.  He  is  to  take 
possession  when  we  get  to  New  York;  he  is  mak- 
ing the  journey  from  Canada  by  train.  He  ex- 
pects to  cross  the  ocean  in  her;  she  is  perfectly 
sea-worthy." 

"Aunt  Caro  and — and  the  others"  (I  did  not  like 
to  mention  Max)  "will  meet  me  in  Boston?"  I  in- 
quired eagerly.  "But  you  telegraphed  them  to  do 
so,  of  course !" 

"Of  course,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"Shall  we  arrive  in  a  few  hours?"  I  asked.  "I 
58 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

am  afraid  that  they  must  be  very  anxious.  Haven't 
we  been  a  long  time  on  the  way  ?"  I  spoke  nervously. 
I  began  to  feel  strangely  ill  at  ease. 

Mr.  Lannion  rose,  and  coming  to  my  side  laid  his 
hand  upon  my  forehead.  "If  you  begin  to  fret,"  he 
said  reprovingly,  "your  fever  will  return.  Try  to 
wait  patiently ;  there's  a  dear  little  girl." 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  disagreeable  when  you  have 
been  so  kind,"  I  said  apologetically.  "Forgive  me, 
please.  Of  course  I  will  wait."  I  wished  to  cry,  the 
tears  were  uncomfortably  near. 

Mr.  Lannion  brought  a  camp-chair  and  placing  it 
beside  my  berth  sat  down.  Then  he  would  have 
taken  my  hands  in  his,  but  I  drew  them  away.  I 
had  no  desire  to  be  treated  like  a  sick  child  and 
soothed  to  sleep. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  visit,"  I  said,  "but  I  think 
I  will  say  good-night." 

He  smiled  tolerantly.  "You  poor  little  thing,"  he 
said  gently,  "your  nerves  are  on  edge  from  dulness. 
I  wish  you  understood  Loison's  patois.  If  you  did 
you  might  amuse  yourself  talking  to  her — not  that 
she  is  very  amusing.  Should  you  like  to  go  on  deck 
for  an  hour  ?  Loison  shall  roll  you  in  blankets  and 
I  will  carry  you  up." 

"Yes,"  I  said  eagerly,  "but  I  prefer  to  dress  first. 
Ask  her  to  bring  me  my  things,  please." 

"I  am  so  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Lannion.  "I  really 
hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  what  has  happened.  It 
is  so  annoying,  yet  so  ridiculously  unbelievable! 
The  truth  is  these  people  are  idiotically  supersti- 
tious— they  thought  bad  luck  attached  to  your  pretty 
clothes.  Loison  made  them  up  into  a  bundle,  weighted 
it,  and  threw  it  overboard." 

I  laughed,  then  remembered  that  my  lace  frock 
had  been  Mr.  Errol's  gift,  and  became  grave.  Mr. 
Lannion  watched  me  keenly.  He  looked  anxious. 

59 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"It  does  not  matter,"  I  said  hastily,  unwilling  to 
distress  my  rescuer  by  letting  him  see  my  regret. 

"I  shall  have  plenty  of  new  things  here  for  you  by 
to-morrow  night,"  said  Mr.  Lannion. 

I  stared  at  him  in  surprise.  "You  are  very  kind" 
— I  spoke  a  trifle  stiffly — "but  my  aunt  and  my  maid 
will  have  thought  of  all  that;  they  will  bring  what 
is  necessary."  Then,  thinking  I  had  perhaps  ap- 
peared ungrateful,  I  added:  "They  will  realize  my 
need  of  a  travelling  dress,  Mr.  Lannion,  but  I  thank 
you  for  your  thoughtfulness  all  the  same." 

He  went  to  the  port-hole  and  stood  looking  out. 

"What  about  going  on  deck?"  he  asked.  "Will 
you  try  it  ?" 

I  thought  he  felt  hurt,  and  not  wishing  to  be  un- 
gracious, I  accepted  his  suggestion.  "I  should  like 
it  very  much,"  I  said.  "I  suppose  we  shall  see  the 
lights  of  Boston  soon.  Are  we  entering  the  harbor? 
Is  that  the  reason  there  is  so  little  motion  ?" 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment;  then  he  said,  as 
if  he  had  not  heard  my  questions:  "On  second 
thoughts,  I  think  you  had  better  not  make  the  effort 
to-night.  You  are  still  weak." 

There  came  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door  and  he  was 
called  away,  and  again  I  began  to  wonder  over  the 
length  of  time  spent  in  making  so  short  a  trip.  It 
was  unaccountable;  so  unaccountable  that  I  grew 
alarmed  as  I  pondered.  It  was  not  like  Katie  to 
submit  to  being  parted  from  her  bairn  so  long.  And 
easily  as  Aunt  Caro  took  most  things,  she  must  be  dis- 
turbed by  my  present  situation.  The  more  I  thought, 
the  more  bewildered  I  became.  I  longed  to  question 
Loison  who  had  returned  and  was  now  seated  by  the 
open  port-hole,  but  she  understood  only  enough  Eng- 
lish to  take  my  orders.  Should  I  send  for  Mr.  Lan- 
nion and  ask  him  to  tell  me  plainly  why  we  had  been 
so  long  on  the  way  ? 

60 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FARM 

My  feelings  toward  Mr.  Lannion  puzzled  me. 
When  he  was  present  I  believed  in  him.  Some- 
thing about  him — his  splendid  physique,  perhaps — 
gave  me  confidence.  I  had  been  guarded  and  cared 
for  all  my  life  and  he  took  charge  of  me  in  the  way 
to  which  I  had  ever  been  accustomed.  Now  that  I 
had  commenced  to  analyze  my  feelings — a  task  quite 
new  to  me — I  could  not  account  for  the  sensation  of 
distrust  that  assailed  me  in  his  absence.  This  had 
been  previously  so  vague  that  it  had  passed  un- 
noticed. I  strove  to  push  it  away  as  ungrateful;  it 
but  returned  with  renewed  strength.  A  hundred 
ways  in  which  Max  and  Katie  might  have  got  to 
me  rushed  into  my  mind.  In  a  few  moments  my 
imagination  had  conjured  up  and  overcome  every 
obstacle  that  could  have  arisen  to  keep  them.  At  last 
I  was  sure  that  something  was  being  hidden  from 
me — some  awful  tidings  of  disaster. 

"I  want  Mr.  Lannion,"  I  said  imperiously.  "Please 
tell  him  to  come  quickly." 

Loison  rose  and  looked  at  me  stolidly,  but  she  did 
not  leave  the  cabin.  I  repeated  my  order,  speaking 
very  slowly.  I  thought  that  she  did  not  understand. 
She  came  to  the  berth  and  arranged  my  covering 
gently.  There  was  an  odd  look  of  pity  in  her  usually 
expressionless  eyes.  Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse — 
by  gratitude  for  her  faithful  care — I  patted  her 
swarthy  cheek,  smiling  up  at  her. 

"Good  Loison!"  I  said  softly,  "you  have  been  so 
kind.  I  hope  to  give  you  something  pretty  when  my 
aunt  comes  for  me.  Do  you  understand  me,  Loison  ? 
You  are  to  choose  what  you  will  have."  I  repeated 
my  words  in  French,  taking  great  pains  to  speak 
clearly.  "Do  you  understand  how  much  I  wish  to 
thank  you,  Loison?"  She  nodded.  "And  now  call 
Mr.  Lannion,  please." 

She  eyed  me  strangely  for  a  moment ;  she  looked  at 
61 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

the  door,  then  back  at  me.  She  opened  her  lips,  as 
if  about  to  speak,  then  closing  them  firmly,  left  the 
cabin.  Presently  Mr.  Lannion  entered. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  he  inquired. 

I  wondered  why  he  never  called  me  by  my  name. 
I  asked  him.  "Have  you  forgotten  my  name,  Mr. 
Lannion?"  I  spoke  irritably. 

"A  foolish  little  question  from  a  very  weary  little 
girl,"  was  the  good-tempered  answer.  "But  you  are 
over-excited.  I  will  bring  something  to  put  you  to 
sleep." 

"I  wish  to  remain  awake,"  I  said,  with  childish 
imperiousness.  "I  want  to  be  ready  for  Aunt  Caro 
and — and  Max"  (I  colored  hotly)  "when  they  arrive." 

"Plenty  of  time  for  a  nap  first,"  said  Mr.  Lan- 
nion composedly.  "You  will  want  to  feel  strong  and 
bright  to  go  ashore." 

He  left  the  room,  returning  in  a  few  moments 
with  what  he  said  was  a  sleeping  draught.  I  was 
already  ashamed  of  my  distrust.  He  was  so  good- 
natured,  so  friendly,  so  kind.  Yet  I  hated  to  drink 
the  mixture  he  held  persuasively  to  my  lips.  What 
if  I  slept  too  long  ?  I  pushed  the  glass  away. 

"No,  no,"  I  insisted,  "I  don't  wish  to  sleep  heavily. 
I  must  not  keep  them  waiting." 

The  gray  eyes  looked  steadily  into  mine,  and  I 
suddenly  wished  to  please,  to  be  obedient. 

"That  is  a  good  child,"  he  said  approvingly,  as  I 
meekly  swallowed  the  stuff.  "And  you  may  sleep 
peacefully,  for  there  is  no  man  living  who  would 
not  be  willing  to  wait — for  you." 

This  pretty  speech  amused  me  and  made  me  feel 
at  ease.  Such  foolish,  affectionate  admiration  was 
the  atmosphere  to  which  I  was  accustomed.  I 
smiled. 

"You  treat  me  like  a  child,"  I  said.  "First  the 
bitter  medicine  and  then  the  sugar!  But  you  have 

62 


THE    PKISONEK    OF    OENITH   FAKM 

been  good  to  me,  and  my  people  all  will  thank  you. 
Good-night." 

I  awoke  at  sunrise.  The  curtain  of  the  port-hole 
was  drawn,  but  I  knew  that  the  day  was  fine,  for  the 
reflection  of  the  sunlit  water  danced  upon  the  ceiling. 
Loison  was  sound  asleep  on  the  lounge.  I  lay  still, 
fearing  I  might  wake  her  should  I  rise  and  peep  out. 
Then  to  my  dismay  I  noticed  that  the  schooner  was 
still  under  way ;  it  rushed  along  briskly,  with  steady 
keel.  I  watched  Loison  with  nervous  eagerness,  wish- 
ing that  she  would  wake.  Surely  in  another  moment 
the  sails  would  be  furled  and  the  anchor  dropped! 
I  strained  my  ears,  listening  breathlessly  whenever 
the  soft  pad,  pad,  of  a  sailor's  quiet  footfall  sounded 
overhead.  But  I  heard  only  the  customary  noises, 
the  creaking  of  the  cordage,  the  flapping  of  the 
sails,  the  occasional  hoarse  commands  of  the  captain, 
and  the  ripple  of  the  water  along  the  sides. 

All  my  doubts  of  the  past  evening  swept  back,  and, 
forgetting  the  sleeping  Loison,  I  slipped  from  my 
berth,  ran  to  the  port-hole,  drew  aside  the  curtain 
and  looked  out.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  morning. 
Too  beautiful,  since  so  clear  a  sunrise  betokened 
clouds  before  night.  The  water  was  ruffled  by  a 
breeze  from  the  east,  and  the  vessel  ran  before  it 
gayly.  By  afternoon,  I  thought,  the  sky  would  be 
gray,  and  the  breeze  might  develop  into  a  gale.  To 
the  south  I  saw  land — then  Loison's  hand  was  upon 
my  shoulder,  and  she  drew  me  away  in  grave,  though 
silent,  disapproval. 

"Boston,  Loison?"  I  asked,  pointing  landward,  as 
she  led  me  back  to  my  berth. 

But  she  shook  her  head  and,  readjusting  the  cur- 
tain, gave  me  to  understand  that  I  was  not  to  get  up 
again.  I  did  not  disobey.  My  mind  was  in  a  whirl. 
If  we  were  not  approaching  Boston,  then  where  were 

63 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

we  ?  Not  at  sea,  surely ;  that,  the  motion  of  the  vessel 
betrayed.  Directly  I  had  had  my  breakfast  I  sent 
for  Mr.  Lannion  to  ask  this  question.  He  told  Loison 
that  he  would  be  with  me  at  once.  I  waited  and 
waited,  listening  for  his  coming  with  ever-increasing 
discomfort  and  impatience.  But  the  moments  grew 
into  hours,  the  boat  still  sped  onward,  impelled  by 
the  fast  freshening  breeze,  and  it  was  not  until  eleven 
o'clock  that  he  tapped  at  my  door.  He  made  no 
apology  for  his  tardy  answer  to  my  summons. 

"You  must  have  an  early  luncheon,"  he  said,  after 
bidding  me  good-morning.  "Loison  tells  me  that 
you  woke  before  dawn.  And  you  must  try  to  sleep 
all  the  afternoon,  so  that  you  may  feel  strong  and 
well  when  we  land  to-night." 

"To-night!"  I  exclaimed  in  relief.  "Oh,  I  am 
so  glad.  And  at  what  time,  Mr.  Lannion  ?" 

"Quite  late,"  he  said.  He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat 
down.  "I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  he  continued, 
"and  I  hope  that  you  won't  be  displeased.  I  have 
full  warrant  for  what  I  am  doing  from" — he  looked 
away  for  an  instant,  hesitating — "from  the  highest 
authority." 

"Aunt  Caro  and — and  Mr.  Errol?"  I  asked, 
meaning  Max. 

"We  were  in  Boston  harbor  the  night  that  you 
had  fever,"  he  said,  not  answering  my  question  di- 
rectly, "and  it  was  thought  best  not  to  move  you.  I 
could  not  wait,  so  I  was  permitted  to  keep  you  with 
me.  The  little  voyage  has  done  you  good." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  I  said,  bewildered.  "Did 
they  come  on  board  ?" 

"No,  they  were  not  in  Boston.  Everything  was 
arranged  by  telegrams." 

"By  telegrams!"  I  exclaimed.  "But  where  are 
they  to  meet  me,  then  ?" 

"They  are  lending  you  to  me  for  a  little  while," 

64 


THE   PKISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

said  Mr.  Lannion.  He  looked  at  me  very  steadily 
as  he  spoke.  "I  am  taking  you  home  with  me.  I 
hope  that  you  may  not  object  to  going." 

I  was  silent.  I  was  weak,  and  disappointment 
brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes.  Of  what  was  Aunt 
Caro  thinking,  to  allow  me  to  visit  the  home  of  this 
stranger?  And  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  Max 
would  consent  to  this  separation.  We  were  but  just 
engaged. 

Mr.  Lannion  watched  me  closely.  "It  is  a  visit 
of  charity/'  he  said,  his  harsh  voice  tuned  to  a  low 
key.  "There  is  a  young  girl  living  with  me  who  is 
bedridden — my  cousin's  wife.  She  is  but  twenty- 
three,  yet  she  may  never  hope  to  run  about  again. 
It  is  thought  that  she  cannot  last  the  year  out.  I 
hope  that  you  will  not  grudge  her  a  little  of  your 
sunshine.  To  have  you  with  her  will  brighten,  cheer 
her  more  than  I  can  say." 

I  swallowed  hard  to  keep  back  the  lump  that 
had,  somehow,  risen  to  choke  me.  Of  course  if  I 
could  do  anything  for  a  poor  suffering  girl — still — 
yet • 

"Katie  ?"  I  questioned  in  faltering  tones. 

"Your  maid  ?"  said  Mr.  Lannion  hastily.  "Yes, 
you  will  have  your  maid."  He  did  not  notice  my 
distress,  apparently.  "Here  is  Loison  with  your 
broth.  Shall  I  feed  you?  No?  You  prefer  not? 
Very  well ;  but  I  shall  remain  until  you  have  drunk 
every  drop." 

The  disappointment,  though  great,  had  not  robbed 
me  of  my  appetite,  and  the  thought  that  I  should 
see  Katie — and  of  course  Max — that  very  night 
gave  me  comfort  and  steadied  me.  Indeed  I  was  so 
hungry  that  I  took  all  the  broth.  Mr.  Lannion's 
rather  grim  face  softened  as  he  watched  me. 

"I  have  been  but  a  dull  companion,  I  fear,"  he 
said,  and  he  sighed.  "Men  of  thirty-seven  must  seem 

65 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

tiresomely  old  and  dull  to  a  young  creature  like 
you." 

"I  don't  care  about  age,"  I  said.  "And  I  have  not 
found  you  dull." 

"You  are  just  the  same  friendly  child  that  you 
were  when  Fate  first  tossed  you  into  my  arms,  a 
little  less  than  ten  years  ago,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 
"You  have  changed  very  little — to  me." 

"I  am  grown  up  now,"  I  said,  smiling  tolerantly, 
as  young  people  are  apt  to  smile  upon  the  remi- 
niscences of  their  elders.  "I  shall  be  eighteen  in 
September."  Then  I  blushed  as  I  added,  speaking 
sedately,  with  the  dignity  that  I  thought  the  subject 
demanded:  "My  engagement  to  Mr.  Errol  is  just 
announced.  We  are  to  be  married  in  September." 

"Indeed  ?"  said  Mr.  Lannion  with  polite  indiffer- 
ence. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  appeared  unsym- 
pathetic. I  felt  suddenly  very  young,  and  as  if  my 
engagement  and  approaching  marriage  were  matters 
of  little  importance.  "That  is  Long  Island,"  he  went 
on,  pointing  toward  the  blue  stretch  of  land  on  the 
horizon. 

"Your  home  is  on  Long  Island  ?"  I  inquired. 

"No,"  he  said;  "but  it  is  not  very  far  from  the 
Sound — six  or  seven  miles,  at  most."  He  rose,  and 
stood  looking  down  at  me  very  kindly.  "You  have 
been  very  sweet  and  patient" — his  old  protecting 
manner  had  returned — "I  will  try  to  make  you  happy 
at  Ornith  Farm." 

"The  name  of  your  place  ?"  I  asked,  my  confidence 
and  friendly  feeling  restored. 

"Yes,  because  of  the  many  birds  there,"  he  said. 
"Your  voice  will  make  them  all  jealous,  and  I  hope 
you  may  sing  to  me  often — and  to  my  poor  sick 
Aileen." 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  I  said,  and  he  went  away. 
66 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  was  happy.  I  had  suddenly  realized  that  Max 
could  at  once  find  his  way  to  Ornith  Farm.  And  I 
promised  myself  to  do  all  that  I  could  to  cheer  the 
suffering  invalid.  I  might  in  this  way  make  some 
small  return  for  Mr.  Lannion's  kindness. 

Presently  I  wondered  at  the  drowsy  feeling  that 
was  creeping  over  me — I  had  felt  very  wide  awake 
but  a  moment  before — my  head  was  heavy  with  sleep 
— very  heavy 


67 


I  slept  long,  not  waking  until  night  had  come. 
The  vessel  was  darting  forward  like  an  arrow.  The 
water  hissed  against  the  sides  as  we  rushed  along. 
A  gray  twilight  filled  the  little  cabin.  The  glass  of 
the  port-hole  was  closed,  to  keep  out  the  keen  east 
wind  that  followed  so  sharply,  but  the  curtain  was 
pushed  aside.  Loison  was  not  with  me.  I  felt  as 
dull  and  heavy  as  when  I  had  fallen  asleep,  quite 
unrefreshed  by  my  long  nap.  I  lay  still,  staring 
dully  into  vacancy,  my  mind  torpid.  An  hour  or 
more  slipped  by  before  my  customary  alertness  began 
to  return,  and  when  Loison  entered  I  did  not  speak, 
as  usual.  By  and  by  I  became  aware  that  the  odd 
gray  light  was  caused  by  the  moon,  shining  dimly 
through  a  veil  of  clouds.  Then  I  realized  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  and  a  rush  of  delightful  excitement 
roused  me. 

"Loison,"  I  cried,  sitting  up  in  my  berth,  "Loison, 
we  must  be  nearly  there!"  Then  I  sank  back,  un- 
accountably sick  and  giddy. 

The  woman  came  quickly  to  my  side  and  bathed 
my  temples  with  ice-cold  water.  This  refreshed  me, 
and  I  thanked  her  gratefully.  "Kind  Loison!"  I 
said. 

Presently  she  brought  me  a  cup  of  black  coffee, 
which  she  made  me  drink.  I  did  not  wish  it,  feeling 
a  distaste  for  anything  of  the  kind.  Her  real  anxiety, 
however,  made  me  swallow  the  strong  stuff  rather  than 
distress  her.  She  arranged  my  pillows  with  affec- 
tionate solicitude,  and,  seating  herself  beside  my 
berth,  began  to  chant  her  strange  lullaby.  I  sang  the 

68 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

pathetic  melody  with  her,  weaving  through  it  trills 
and  swinging  cadences  as  they  floated  into  my 
mind.  But  soon  I  was  dreamily  chanting  the  old 
ballad  of  Mary  Hamilton,  setting  its  tragic  words 
to  the  plaintive  minor  of  Loison's  slumber  song. 
We  sang  softly,  very  softly,  Loison  and  I,  our  united 
voices  blending  with  the  song  outside,  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  pursuing  wind,  the  sharp  hiss  of  the 
water  as  the  vessel's  prow  cut  through  it,  and  the 
insistent  creak  of  the  timbers  peevishly  urging  the 
sails  to  do  their  best. 

I  sang  the  ballad  through — those  verses  of  it  that 
Katie  had  taught  me — then  Loison,  continuing  her 
chant,  recommenced.  After  a  time  the  vessel's  mad 
race  slackened,  soon  we  slipped  along  very  quietly. 

"Rise  up,  rise  up,  Mary  Hamilton," 

I  sang,  and  as  I  sang  I  listened  to  the  sounds  with- 
out: 

"Rise  up,  and  dress  ye  fine, 
For  you  maun  gang  to  Edinbruch 
And  stand " 

I  broke  off  abruptly  and  sat  up. 

"Loison,"  I  cried,  "we  are  stopping !  We  must  be 
close  to  land !" 

The  usually  impassive  half-breed  started,  and  even 
in  the  murky  light  I  could  see  that  it  was  in  alarm. 
She  leaned  forward,  and  taking  both  my  hands  in 
hers,  murmured  what  sounded  like  a  prayer.  I 
scarcely  heeded,  so  absorbed  was  I  in  listening  for 
the  dropping  of  the  anchor,  the  lowering  of  the  sails. 
This  happened  soon,  and  was  done  quietly ;  so  quietly, 
indeed,  that  I  wondered  at  the  men's  skill  and  silence. 
I  had  fancied  that  sailors  always  sang  or  were  noisy 
when  at  work. 

69 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Loison  went  to  the  port-hole  and  looked  out.  There 
came  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Lannion 
entered. 

"All  in  the  dark !"  he  exclaimed.  "You  will  need 
a  light  now.  You  are  to  dress  and  go  ashore.  Do 
you  feel  rested?"  He  leaned  over  me,  taking  my 
hand  as  if  to  feel  my  pulse. 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said  quickly,  "and  quite,  quite  well, 
Mr.  Lannion.  Has  Katie  come  ?  Did  she  bring  my 
things  ?" 

"~No,  she  is  not  here,"  he  said  soothingly.  "And 
I  am  sorry,  but  you  will  have  to  manage  with  what 
I  have  had  brought  for  you." 

As  he  spoke  Loison  drew  the  curtain  and  made  a 
light,  and  I  saw  that  a  large  box  had  been  placed 
upon  the  lounge.  Although  disappointed  at  Katie's 
non-appearance,  and  by  being  obliged  to  wear  clothes 
not  my  own,  I  was  in  no  mood  for  asking  questions. 
My  one  desire  was  for  haste.  Mr.  Lannion  appar- 
ently shared  this  feeling,  for  he  left  me  immediately, 
saying  that  we  were  to  land  directly  I  was  ready. 
;  Though  Loison  could  speak  but  little  English,  I 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  talking  to  her,  content 
that  she  had  the  air  of  being  an  attentive  listener. 
I  chatted  away  volubly  while  she  helped  me  dress; 
and  I  needed  a  good  deal  of  help,  since  not  only  was 
I  weak,  but  the  new  clothing  required  attention — a 
pin  here,  a  few  stitches  there.  It  fitted  me  ill  and 
had  been  oddly  chosen.  The  undergarments  were  of 
common  material,  over-trimmed  with  machine-made 
embroidery  and  imitation  lace.  The  serge  yachting 
suit  was  of  an  aggressive  glaring  blue;  both  jacket 
and  skirt  were  lined  with  purplish-crimson  silk ;  while 
the  stars  and  anchors,  lavishly  embroidered  upon  the 
pale  blue  blouse,  were  of  a  bright  yellow-red. 

Naturally,  I  said  nothing  derogatory  in  regard  to 
Mr.  Lannion's  provision  for  my  comfort,  but  Loison's 

70 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

lack  of  admiration  surprised  me.  I  had  fancied  that 
the  gay  garish  colors  would  please  her.  She  dressed 
me  as  slowly  as  possible,  seizing  every  pretext  for 
delay,  her  dark  face  growing  more  melancholy  each 
moment.  At  last,  however,  I  was  quite  ready,  my 
toilet  being  completed  by  a  yachting  cap  as  vulgarly 
showy  as  the  rest  of  the  suit. 

"Dear  Loison,"  I  said,  and  I  spoke  very  gently, 
thinking  that  her  sadness  was  caused  by  our  ap- 
proaching parting  and  ashamed  that  I  could  feel  only 
happy,  "dear  Loison,  I  must  say  good-bye,  but  I  want 
your  promise  to  come  and  see  me  soon.  All  my  family 
will  wish  to  thank  you  for  having  been  so  good  to  me. 
And — but  wait  a  moment !" 

I  hastened  into  the  main  cabin  to  look  for  Mr. 
Lannion.  I  had  remembered  my  penniless  condition, 
and  that  I  must  borrow  of  my  host  in  order  to  fee 
Loison.  He  was  standing  by  the  steps  that  led  up- 
ward to  the  deck,  waiting  for  me.  Laying  my  finger 
upon  my  lips,  I  motioned  to  him  to  remain  where  he 
was,  and  crossed  to  his  side. 

"Hush!"  I  whispered.  "I  don't  wish  Loison  to 
hear."  And  I  told  him  what  I  had  come  for.  Then 
I  went  quickly  to  a  sofa  and  sat  down ;  standing  was 
impossible. 

Mr.  Lannion  looked  grave.  "You  are  very  weak," 
he  said. 

"It  is  nothing,"  I  said  hastily,  and  at  once  con- 
sulted him  as  to  the  amount  I  should  give  Loison. 
"Five  dollars?"  I  questioned,  looking  at  him  ear- 
nestly. "Would  five  dollars  be  right,  do  you  think? 
Or  should  it  be  ten?"  I  puckered  my  brows;  I 
thought  hard.  I  had  never  feed  any  one.  That  sort 
of  thing  had  always  been  done  by  my  elders.  But  I 
had  heard  the  subject  discussed.  To  give  too  much 
was  vulgar  and  did  harm ;  so  Aunt  Caro  had  said.  I 
turned  to  my  companion,  seeking  advice.  He  was 

71 


THE    PKISOKEK    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

watching  me  in  a  most  singular  manner.  "I  wish 
that  you  would  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  give,  Mr.  Lan- 
nion,"  I  persisted.  "Five  dollars,  ten — how  much? 
She  has  not  only  been  a  good  nurse,  she  has  been 
kind  as  well.  I  like  her.  How  much  should  I  give  ?" 

"How  much  ?"  he  echoed.  "As  much  as  you  please, 
of  course.  Don't  fret  about  what  you  ought  to  give, 
but  do  as  you  like." 

He  drew  a  quantity  of  money  from  his  pockets  as 
he  spoke,  both  bills  and  silver,  and,  sorting  it,  made 
several  piles  upon  the  table.  I  marvelled  at  the 
swift  dexterity  of  his  large  hands  and  their  neat 
precision  of  movement,  as  I  stared  up  at  him  dis- 
appointed, frowning.  I  was  accustomed  to  having 
advice  showered  upon  me.  I  had  never  before  asked 
for  it  in  vain.  An  over-petted  child,  I  showed  my 
vexation  plainly.  I  stamped  my  foot  with  impatience. 

"I  think  you  are  unkind,  unfriendly !"  I  exclaimed 
pettishly.  "I  ask  for  help,  and  you  give  me — noth- 
ing." 

"Nothing?"  He  pointed  at  the  little  heaps  of 
money  and  raised  his  eyebrows,  smiling  quizzically. 
"I  call  that  a  great  deal,  and  it  is  yours." 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  still  more  impatiently;  "of 
course  my  aunt  will  wish  me  to  borrow  all  I  need, 
but " 

I  broke  off,  forgetting,  in  this  necessity  for  de- 
ciding alone,  the  perfectly  useless  person  beside  me. 
I  would  give  five  dollars.  Would  Loison  prefer  to 
have  it  in  bills  or  in  silver  ?  I  would  not  consult  Mr. 
Lannion  again.  As  an  adviser  he  was  not  to  be  re- 
lied upon.  I  selected  a  two-dollar  and  a  one-dollar 
bill,  two  fifty  and  four  twenty-five  cent  pieces. 

My  riddle  solved,  my  conscience  accused  me  of 
rudeness ;  so  I  smiled  as  I  said,  glancing  toward  the 
money  still  left  on  the  table : 

"Tom  Tidler's  ground!  I  have  picked  up  my 
72 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

handful  of  gold  and  silver,  thank  you.  I  have  taken 
five  dollars." 

"Ah,  none  for  yourself !"  was  his  comment.  "Per- 
haps you  had  better  put  a  little  silver  into  your  own 
pocket — I  know  that  it  is  empty."  And  he  surveyed 
my  ugly,  unbecoming  suit  with  complacency. 

"No,  thanks,"  I  said  quickly;  "Katie  will  have 
brought  me  some.  Do  you  think  we  shall  find  her 
at  Ornith  Farm  to-night  ?"  (I  could  not  believe  that 
she  had  arrived,  yet  had  failed  to  meet  me  at  this 
landing-place.)  "Yes?"  as  he  smiled  reassuringly, 
while  he  swept  the  money  back  into  his  pockets — 
not  altogether  unwillingly,  I  thought.  "Let  us  be  off 
at  once !  I  will  run  and  say  good-bye  to  poor  Loison." 

My  excitement  was  intense.  I  was  so  happy  at 
the  prospect  of  seeing  Max  and  my  Katie — within 
a  short  hour  probably — that  I  was  aggravated  at  the 
lack  of  lightness  in  my  limbs.  They  ought  to  have 
shared  my  uplifted  feeling.  And  Loison,  whom  I 
found  waiting  for  my  return,  looked  as  dull  and  heavy 
as  my  body  felt.  I  pressed  the  money  into  her  hand, 
then,  yielding  to  one  of  my  sudden  impulses,  gently 
kissed  her  on  each  cheek. 

"You  have  been  so  good  to  me!"  I  murmured. 
"I  wish  you  every  happiness,  dear  Loison." 

She  looked  at  me  strangely.  Were  there  tears  in 
her  bright  dark  eyes?  They  were  not  so  hard  as 
usual.  She  wrapped  the  silver  that  I  had  given  her 
in  the  two  bills,  twisting  them  tight.  She  opened  the 
port-hole  and  holding  the  little  parcel  in  her  open 
palm,  spat  upon  it,  then  dropped  it  into  the  waters  of 
the  Sound.  I  stared  in  open-eyed  wonder,  but  before 
I  could  voice  my  surprise,  she  took  a  small  bottle  from 
her  bosom  and  motioned  to  me  to  remove  my  yachting 
cap.  I  obeyed,  swayed  by  the  fierce  excitement  that 
possessed  her.  She  moistened  her  finger  in  the  water 
that  the  bottle  contained  and  made  the  sign  of  the 

73 


THE    PKISONER   OF   OKNITH   FARM 

cross  upon  my  brow  and  breast.  And  I  knew  that 
it  was  holy  water,  and  that  the  poor  creature  was 
striving  to  guard  me  from  some  dreaded  evil.  I  laid 
my  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Loison,"  I  whispered,  "why  do  you  do  this  ?  Why 
do  you  fear  for  me  ?" 

She  replaced  the  bottle  in  her  breast  and  pointed 
toward  the  door:  "Loup-garou,"  she  murmured  in 
smothered  tones,  and  she  began  a  prayer. 

"Are  you  never  coming,  child?"  cried  Mr.  Lan- 
nion,  tapping  imperiously,  and  he  entered.  He  had 
a  cloak  over  his  arm,  and  wore  an  overcoat  and  a 
rough  cap.  He  wrapped  the  cloak  around  me.  "Pull 
your  cap  on  firmly,"  he  said.  "I  shall  carry  you; 
you  are  not  fit  to  walk."  He  lifted  me  in  his  arms 
as  he  spoke. 

"One  moment !"  I  cried ;  "I  must  speak  to  Loison. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  carried." 

I  strove  to  regain  my  footing ;  I  held  out  my  hands 
to  Loison.  Mr.  Lannion  paid  no  heed,  but  laugh- 
ing good-humoredly,  bore  me  swiftly  through  the 
cabin  and  up  the  stairs.  I  looked  back,  waving  a 
farewell  to  the  faithful  half-breed.  I  was  sorry  for 
her,  and  bewildered  by  her  fears. 

"Good-bye,  Loison!"  I  cried.  "Adieu!  Que  le 
Ion  Dieu  te  protege." 

But  she  had  fallen  upon  her  knees  and,  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands,  was  absorbed  in  prayer. 


VI 

The  rush  of  the  east  wind  as  it  swept  across  the 
deck  was  a  delight,  bringing  refreshment  and  a  de- 
licious sense  of  freedom,  after  my  confinement  in  the 
narrow  cabin.  I  smiled  in  kindly  tolerance  over 
Loison's  superstitious  dread  of  Mr.  Lannion,  while 
my  gratitude  for  his  care — so  soon  now  to  be  relin- 
quished— increased.  I  accepted  this  care,  however, 
with  a  childishness  quite  unpardonable  in  a  girl  of 
seventeen.  My  only  objection  to  being  carried  came 
from  a  fear  of  giving  too  much  trouble.  When  I 
spoke  of  this,  and  Mr.  Lannion  said  that  my  weight 
was  as  nothing,  and  the  slight  service  a  pleasure,  I 
took  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"This  is  one  of  the  few  occasions  when  I  don't 
regret  my  lack  of  inches,"  I  said,  as,  still  holding 
me  carefully,  he  descended  the  steps,  fastened  to  the 
side  of  the  vessel  since  our  anchorage,  to  the  boat 
lying  in  readiness  below. 

"Yours  is  a  perfect  height,"  he  said  absently, 
while  he  settled  me  comfortably  in  the  stern  and 
took  the  steering  ropes.  He  evidently  could  think 
of  but  one  thing — getting  ashore  quickly. 

The  night  was  eerie,  uncanny.  The  moon's  face 
was  hidden  behind  so  smooth,  so  impenetrable  a  veil 
of  clouds  that  no  peep-hole  remained  through  which 
it  might  look  down — in  friendly  fashion — upon  the 
earth.  While  there  was  sufficient  light  to  render  all 
objects  visible,  they  were  distorted  by  the  murky 
gloom.  The  trees  and  low  bushes  that  grew  upon 
the  hilly  point,  toward  which  the  two  sailors  were 
rowing  us,  assumed  strange  shapes ;  then,  as  we  drew 

75 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

nearer,  looked  as  if  they  might  be  the  lurking-places 
of  unpleasant  things.  On  one  side,  where  the  point 
joined  the  shore,  was  a  dance  pavilion.  Its  heavy 
shutters  were  closed,  the  many  doors  boarded  up, 
showing  that  the  season  of  summer  gayety  was  not 
yet  begun.  Meant  for  pleasure,  its  barricaded  con- 
dition gave  it  a  forlorn,  deserted  look.  We  did  not 
land  at  its  dock.  Our  boat  was  run  ashore  below  the 
steep  bank  of  the  point.  Hardly  were  Mr.  Lannion 
and  I  on  land  before  the  men  were  off  again,  making 
their  swift,  almost  silent,  way  back  to  the  vessel. 
And — through  the  odd  gray  light — I  saw  that  those 
on  board  were  already  preparing  to  resume  their 
journey. 

"The  carriage  must  be  waiting  for  us,"  said  Mr. 
Lannion,  again  lifting  me  in  his  strong  arms.  "The 
road  is  very  near,"  and  he  started  up  the  bank. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  am  so  weak,"  I  complained 
fretfully.  "I  have  not  been  ill  long,  and  I  have  slept 
so  much." 

"Drugs  affect  some  people  in  that  way,"  said  Mr. 
Lannion.  "You  will  soon  regain  your  strength." 

"Drugs  ?"  I  repeated  questioningly.  "Why,  I  have 
taken  very  little  medicine,  Mr.  Lannion." 

"To  be  sure,"  was  the  hasty  answer;  "you  are 
quite  right.  No  medicine  to  speak  of.  I  did  not 
think  what  I  was  saying.  Let  us  rest  a  moment  here" 
(we  had  gained  the  top  of  the  little  hill).  "You  can 
sit  down — on  this  rock — if  you  wish." 

I  caught  his  arm.  "Look  1"  I  whispered.  "There 
is  something  near  that  clump  of  trees." 

As  I  spoke  the  dark  object  detached  itself,  proving 
to  be  a  very  tall  man. 

"What  sharp  eyes!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lannion,  a 
note  of  relief  in  his  voice.  "That  you,  Jasper?" 
as  the  man  approached.  "All  well  at  the  farm  ?" 
The  man  did  not  speak  but  grunted  an  affirmative. 

76 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"This  is  Solomon  Jasper,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  not 
as  in  introduction,  but  simply  announcing  a  fact. 
Solomon  Jasper  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  in  an 
attitude  of  stolid,  yet  respectful,  attention.  "He  is 
to  be  trusted."  Mr.  Lannion  spoke  slowly,  impres- 
sively, as  if  wishing  the  apparently  obtuse  Solomon 
Jasper  to  be  aware  of  the  compliment  paid  him. 
"I  trust  him  to  look  after  my  valuables."  He  stopped 
speaking,  and  glanced  from  the  man  standing  rigid 
before  us — a  powerful,  soldierly  figure — to  me,  and 
back  again. 

"Mr.  Lannion  is  very  fortunate,"  I  murmured, 
smiling.  I  did  not  know  exactly  what  I  ought  to 
say  under  the  circumstances.  "Trustworthy  people 
are  rare,  I  am  told." 

Mr.  Lannion  leaned  over  me.  "Jasper  shall  carry 
you  now — if  you  prefer,"  he  whispered. 

I  was  about  to  say  no  (I  had  a  dislike  to  being 
cared  for  by  this  strange-looking  servant),  when  I 
remembered  my  manners,  and,  realizing  that  Mr. 
Lannion  must  himself  be  weary  of  the  burden,  con- 
sented to  the  change.  My  decision  pleased  Mr.  Lan- 
nion. Solomon  Jasper,  picking  me  up  as  though  I 
were  a  doll,  accepted  it  stolidly,  showing  neither 
gratification  nor  distaste. 

"Carefully,  Jasper,"  warned  Mr.  Lannion  as  we 
started.  "She  has  been  ill — carry  her  smoothly." 

Again  Solomon  Jasper  grunted  in  response.  I 
looked  up  with  youthful  curiosity  into  his  dark  face. 
I  had  thought  him  a  negro,  but  I  now  saw  from  the 
shape  of  his  features  that  he  was  half  Indian.  He 
was  a  handsome  man,  his  expression  gentle,  almost 
benevolent.  Yet  it  was  manifest,  even  to  my  un- 
trained perceptions,  that  I  was  to  him  but  a  pack- 
age of  which  he  must  be  especially  careful — a 
breakable  package,  by  which  his  master  set  great 
store.  This  seemed  odd  to  me,  accustomed  all  my 

77 


THE    PKISOKEK    OF    OKNTTH   FAKM 

life  to  being  petted  by  the  servants  for  my  own 
sake. 

Mr.  Lannion  kept  close  beside  us.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  allowed  his  servant  to  carry  me  only  to  prove 
his  trust  in  him.  And  that  Solomon  Jasper  con- 
sidered it  both  a  privilege  and  a  compliment  was  clear. 
He  walked  with  much  the  same  air  of  proud  impor- 
tance as  does  a  dog  intrusted  with  his  master's 
newspaper. 

The  high-road  ran  below  the  hill  but  a  short  dis- 
tance from  where  we  had  landed,  and  here  we  found 
a  carriage,  drawn  by  two  powerful  black  horses.  The 
coach  was  handsome,  the  horses  thoroughbred,  but 
the  driver  sat  like  a  jockey,  not  as  a  coachman.  The 
careless,  easy  slouch  of  his  attitude,  the  way  he  held 
the  reins,  pleased  me — a  Yorke.  I  got  into  the  car- 
riage with  the  comfortable  conviction  that  we  should 
reach  Ornith  Farm  soon,  and  safely.  Mr.  Lannion 
bidding  me  curl  myself  up  on  the  back  seat  and  try 
to  sleep,  placed  himself  opposite.  Solomon  Jasper 
mounted  the  box  beside  the  driver,  and  off  we  sped 
through  the  night. 

The  carriage  was  of  the  best  make ;  easy-running, 
luxuriously  cushioned.  The  horses'  gait  was  delight- 
ful— a  long  free  stride.  But  I  was  painfully  wide- 
awake. Instead  of  trying  to  sleep,  I  stared  eagerly 
from  the  windows  at  the  changing  landscape,  showing 
dimly  through  the  uncanny  gloom.  Mr.  Lannion 
watched  me.  His  eyes  seemed  to  catch  what  little 
light  there  was  and  hold  it ;  the  gray  pupils  gleamed 
strangely. 

Presently  we  left  the  level  road  and  began  to  mount 
a  hill.  The  horses  took  it  with  a  rush;  the  driver 
breathed  them  at  the  top.  Then  up  another,  and  still 
again — hills. 

"Is  it  a  mountain  ?"  I  asked. 

Mr.  Lannion  smiled.  His  teeth  were  as  shining 
78 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

as  his  eyes.  "Ornith  Farm  is  at  the  very  top," 
he  said.  "A  broad  plateau,  not  on  the  summit  of 
a  mountain,  but  merely  the  highest  bit  of  this  hilly 
country.  You  can  see  both  the  Sound  and  the  Hud- 
son River  from  there.  The  plateau  is  not  very  large, 
but  the  farm  is  sufficiently  so — about  three  hundred 
acres.  The  fields  belonging  to  it  slope  down  to  the 
west,  and  there  is  a  good  bit  of  woodland.  East  of 
the  high-road — it  runs  on  the  verge  of  the  plateau — 
the  land  is  little  cultivated.  The  man  who  owns  it 
is  a  poor  farmer.  His  house,  over  two  miles  distant, 
is  the  nearest  dwelling  to  mine.  I  have  no  neighbors." 

I  listened  with  interest.  Max  might  be  able  to 
board  at  this  farm-house — Max,  who  was  even  now 
awaiting  me.  I  moved  restlessly  from  window  to 
window.  Mr.  Lannion  noticed  my  impatience. 

"We  are  nearly  home,"  he  said. 

The  country,  as  we  steadily  surmounted  hill  after 
hill,  had  grown  more  and  more  open.  Few  trees 
were  to  be  seen  and  no  houses.  The  fields  were 
rough  with  boulders.  By  and  by  the  road  ran  beneath 
a  high  board  fence.  Close  inside  were  many  trees. 
Their  tops  appeared  above  it — a  black  serried  mass. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  highway — to  the  east — 
a  low  stone  wall  allowed  the  open  country  to  be 
plainly  seen.  It  looked  desolate  enough;  the  gray 
light  showing  a  succession  of  bare  hills,  rolling  away 
into  the  shadowy  distance  like  the  billows  that  had 
so  lately  threatened  to  engulf  me. 

Presently  the  carriage  stopped  before  a  plain  farm 
gate.  Solomon  Jasper  got  down  and  opened  it,  the 
impatient  horses  pawing  the  gravel  in  their  desire 
to  reach  their  stable.  The  driver  soothed  them  with 
low-toned  remonstrances.  His  voice  was  pleasant, 
gentle. 

"Come,  Sol,  old  man,"  he  drawled,  as  Solomon 
slowly  closed  the  gate  behind  us,  "don't  be  too  long, 

79 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNTTH   FARM 

will  you  ?  I  guess  these  horses  don't  want  to  linger 
much.  And  hear  them  puppies  whinin'  for  their 
freedom !  I  calliate  they're  about  wild  by  now." 

The  whining  to  which  he  alluded  was  the  deep- 
chested  baying  of  fully  grown  dogs. 

"Puppies  ?"  I  ejaculated  in  surprise.  "What  does 
he  mean,  Mr.  Lannion  ?" 

"Great  Danes,"  my  host  explained.  "They  run 
loose  at  night  generally,  but  are  chained  now  because 
of  our  coming.  They  are  rather  savage,  so  I  keep 
them  tied  in  the  daytime.  Cooper — the  coachman — 
has  charge  of  them.  They  hear  us  now." 

"Are  there  many  tramps  about  here?"  I  asked. 
It  seemed  curious  that  such  lazy  creatures  should 
wish  to  climb  the  hills.  "Do  you  need  fierce  dogs 
for  protection,  Mr.  Lannion?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  answer.  "See,  there  are  the 
lights  of  the  house  !" 

I  looked  but  failed  to  see  the  lights  he  mentioned. 
Instead  I  saw,  on  either  side  of  the  avenue,  a  row 
of  tall  elms.  Between  their  stately  trunks,  to  the 
southward,  a  stretch  of  lawns  or  meadows ;  to  the 
north,  a  confused  mass  of  low  bushes  and  a  thick  line 
of  hedge.  In  another  moment  we  had  stopped  on  a 
broad  sweep  of  gravel  before  a  large  house.  I  had 
not  time  to  do  more  than  glance  at  the  exterior,  when 
Mr.  Lannion  lifted  me  from  the  carriage  and  carried 
me  up  the  steps  into  the  hall. 

"We  must  be  very  quiet,"  he  whispered,  his  lips 
almost  touching  my  cheek,  "and  not  wake  poor 
Aileen." 

The  place  was  dimly  lighted.  We  had  entered 
under  the  stairway.  The  hall  ran  the  length  of  the 
house,  which  was  built  in  the  simple  old  fashion, 
with  two  rooms  on  either  side.  At  the  other  end  was 
a  glass  door  leading  out  upon  a  veranda — this  I  dis- 
covered later.  The  doors  of  the  rooms — over-tall 

80 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

and  made  of  shining  dark  wood — were  closed.  Above 
each  was  a  small  shield  of  the  same  shining  wood, 
and  upon  each  shield  was  carved  a  flight  of  birds. 
Over  the  glass  door  ran  a  scroll — or  banner — of 
wood  upon  which  was  carved,  in  German  text :  "Wel- 
come to  Ornith  Farm." 

But  in  spite  of  this  cordial  greeting  the  hall  was 
gloomy,  for  while  an  old-fashioned  design  had  been 
followed,  the  old-fashioned  measurements  had  been 
disregarded.  The  ceiling  was  too  high  and  the  doors 
too  tall ;  giving  an  air  of  compression,  of  narrowness 
to  the  whole.  Yet  it  was  really  very  wide.  The 
shining  tables  and  settles,  ranged  on  either  hand,  were 
separated  by  a  broad  space  of  the  heavily  carpeted 
floor.  (A  carpet  as  soft  as  moss  and  as  unobtrusive 
in  its  dark  green  tint.)  Perched  high  above  one  of 
the  tables,  a  great  carved  eagle  stared  vindictively 
at  his  own  fierce  image  reflected  in  the  black-framed 
mirror  hanging  opposite.  The  few  pictures,  engrav- 
ings— all  landscapes — had,  like  the  mirror,  dark 
frames,  and  but  served  to  increase  the  dull  effect  of 
the  gray  painted  walls. 

I  glanced  about  me  with  swift,  eager  scrutiny, 
looking  for  the  dear  familiar  faces  that  I  had  so 
surely  expected  to  find.  But  the  sombre  hall  was 
empty.  Mr.  Lannion  set  me  gently  on  my  feet.  He 
had  possessed  himself  of  one  of  my  hands;  he  held 
it  firmly. 

"Katie,"  I  asked,  "Katie — where  is  she,  Mr. 
Lannion  2" 

His  grasp  upon  my  hand  tightened ;  he  put  his 
arm  around  me,  drawing  me  to  him.  Then,  bending 
his  tall  head,  he  whispered  gently,  soothingly,  as 
though  speaking  to  a  terrified  child : 

"She  could  not  get  here  to-night;  she  is  coming 
to-morrow,  to-morrow  morning.  Hush,"  as  great 
tears  of  disappointment  welled  into  my  eyes,  "hush, 

81 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

you  must  not  cry ! — no,  no,  you  must  go  to  bed,  and 
to  sleep.  Then  you  will  be  able  to  welcome  your 
old  nurse  cheerfully — when  she  arrives."  And  he 
carried  me  up  the  staircase.  "If  you  cry  you  may 
wake  poor  Aileen,"  he  said. 

I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and  bowing  my 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  made  a  desperate  effort 
to  stifle  the  sobs  of  homesickness  that  threatened 
to  rob  me  of  my  self-control.  Mr.  Lannion  hasten- 
ing his  steps,  established  me  presently  in  an  easy- 
chair. 

"Get  her  to  bed  quickly,  Delcie,"  he  commanded 
in  low  tones.  "I  will  bring  something  to  quiet  her 
nerves.  She  is  worn  out  by  the  journey,  poor  little 
thing." 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  answer  in  a  rich  sweet  voice ; 
"the  young  lady  shall  be  in  nightly  dishabill  di- 
rectly." 

Taught  by  the  boys  to  consider  tears  an  inexcus- 
able weakness,  and  told  by  my  nurse  that  Martha 
Washington  never  cried,  I  had  always  tried  to  en- 
dure my  childish  hurts — and  woes — with  stoicism. 
True  to  this  early  training,  I  hurriedly  dried  my 
eyes  and  smiled  kindly  at  the  comely  maid — a  young 
colored  woman.  Speak  I  could  not.  But  she  under- 
stood my  wish  to  greet  her  civilly,  and  removing  my 
flashy  cap,  said  caressingly: 

"What  luxuriant  golden-tressed  curls!  Let  Del- 
cievere  brush  them  out  soft  and  comfortingly.  There, 
there,"  as  Mr.  Lannion  left  the  room,  "don't  injure 
those  sweet  blue  eyes  with  weeping !  Delcievere  will 
bathe  them  presently." 

She  spoke  quite  without  racial  accent,  but  with 
the  pleasant  drawl  and  soft  intonation  peculiar  to 
her  people.  Her  odd  choice  of  words  and  her  quaint 
manner — she  treated  me  as  though  I  were  a  little 
girl — amused  and  diverted  me.  In  watching  her  and 

82 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

examining  my  new  surroundings,  I  found  it  not  so 
hard  to  wait  until  the  morrow  for  Max — and  my 
Katie.  I  had  Mr.  Lannion's  assurance  as  to  their 
certain  arrival  in  the  morning.  I  smiled  again  at 
my  good-looking  attendant,  as  she  began  to  brush  my 
hair. 

"This  is  a  pleasant  room,"  I  said. 

It  was  a  hall  bedroom  of  good  size,  with  two  win- 
dows opposite  the  door  of  entrance.  The  cottage  fur- 
niture was  pretty,  the  blue  and  gray  carpet  very  thick 
and  soft,  and  the  frieze  of  the  blue  wall-paper  ex- 
tremely curious.  This  was  a  blue  arabesque  on  a  gray 
background  that,  when  looked  at  quickly,  resolved 
itself  here  and  there  into  the  number  seven.  Ex- 
amined steadily,  the  graceful  pattern  held ;  the  sevens 
disappeared,  absorbed  in  the  general  grouping.  I 
looked  away,  then  glanced  back  so  quickly  that  Delcie, 
startled,  brushed  my  hair  awry.  The  sevens  had  all 
started  out  again. 

"Yes,  I  see  that  they  are  observable  even  to  a 
stranger,"  was  the  maid's  gentle  comment.  "The 
room  is  called  'seven  up/  It's  supposed  by  some  to 
be  a  lucky  number,  but  persons  who,  like  me,  studies 
Webster's  unabridged,  soon  assimilates  contempt  for 
such  fool  thoughts.  Yes,"  she  continued,  gratified 
by  my  interest,  "yes,  indeed,  I  do  endeavor  to 
promulgate  my  vocabulary.  And,  lawsy  me" — with 
a  sudden  relapse  into  vulgar  speech,  and  giggling 
mischievously — "Solomon  and  Zayma  and  little 
Nanny  don't  scarcely  dare  open  their  mouths  when 
I'm  'round!"  Recovering  her  dignity  she  added, 
speaking  with  pitying  condescension,  "But  'cepting 
Solomon  (and  he's  half  Injun),  they're  nothing  but 
Southern  niggers ;  and  us  Northern  colored  ought  to 
have  toleration  for  their  ignorant  ways,  and  set  'em 
an  example  of  elegant  talking.  I  wish  there  was 
more  here  to  educate — but  Mr.  Lannion  he  won't 

83 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

have  many  domestics  'round.    We  work  hard — we  do 
get  double  pay,  howsomenever !" 

I  suggested  that  in  a  small  family,  like  Mr.  Lan- 
nion's,  few  servants  were  needed.  Delcie  shook  her 
head. 

"Mr.  Lannion's  home,"  she  said,  "is  chock-full  of 
invalidism  and  gentlemen  friends  staying  all  the 
year  'round.  Dr.  Despard,"  she  pointed  toward  the 
east  wall  of  the  room  with  her  brush,  "is  in  there 
afflicted  with  some  incurable  misery.  Mr.  Lannion 
occupies  the  other  corner  apartment,"  motioning 
toward  the  opposite  side,  "where  he's  at  this  moment 
compounding  a  sleep  mixture  for — "  She  hesitated, 
her  eyes  met  mine  in  the  mirror  before  which  I  was 
sitting.  Her  expression  was  very  strange — she  looked 
frightened. 

"Miss  Carmichael,"  I  said,  rounding  out  her  sen- 
tence for  her,  and  thinking  that  her  sudden  alarmed 
embarrassment  was  caused  by  not  knowing  my  name. 

She  neither  repeated  nor  used  it,  but  placing  the 
brush  upon  the  dressing-table,  she  opened  an  armoire 
and  then  a  chiffonnier,  seeking  what  I  needed  for 
the  night.  Both  receptacles  seemed  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  tawdry  finery  of  the  same  style  as  that 
which  I  was  wearing.  Delcievere  began  again  to 
talk. 

"Yes,  Dr.  Despard  occupies  that  corner  room,"  she 
said,  speaking  a  trifle  nervously,  "and  Mrs.  Despard 
the  two  adjoining.  Ornith  Farm's  almost  a  mansion. 
Three  apartments  to  each  side  of  this  upper  hall, 
yours  making  the  seventh.  I've  never  been  to  the 
third  story.  (Solomon — and,  sometimes,  Zayma — 
has  it  in  charge. )  Not  that  I  care  to ;  no,  indeed ! 
I've  not  the  remotest  interest  in  third-story-no-account 
part  of  dwellings."  And  tossing  her  head  with 
assumed  indifference,  she  went  to  fetch  the  sleeping 
draught. 

84 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

The  clocks  throughout  the  house  chimed  the  half- 
hour,  half  past  one,  as  I  laid  my  weary  head  upon 
my  pillow.  I  felt  very  miserable ;  everything  seemed 
swinging  to  and  fro ;  it  was  as  if  I  were  still  at  sea. 
When  Delcievere  held  the  sleeping  potion  to  my  lips, 
I  pushed  it  away.  I  wondered  that  Mr.  Lannion 
wished  to  dose  me  when  he  thought  drugs  weakening. 

"Pray  imbibe  it,  like  a  nice  little  lady!"  coaxed 
Delcie.  "It's  sweet  and  salubrious." 

"No,"  I  said  decidedly,  "I  don't  want  it.  Please 
take  it  away." 

"Lawsy  me!"  she  ejaculated,  "where  to?  Mr. 
Lannion  says  you  must." 

Over-fatigue,  disappointment,  and  the  disagreeable 
sensations  of  dizziness  and  nausea  made  me  petulant, 
forgetful  of  my  manners. 

"Nonsense !"  I  cried,  and  springing  out  of  bed, 
seized  the  glass  and  flung  the  mixture  away.  "There," 
I  said,  putting  the  empty  wine-glass  down  upon  the 
table,  "that's  settled.  You  need  not  tell  Mr.  Lannion 
if  you  are  afraid.  I  will,  in  the  morning." 

"My,  my !"  she  murmured  under  her  breath,  hold- 
ing up  her  hands  in  real  dismay  and  glancing  fear- 
fully toward  the  door.  "Lawsy  me,  but  he'll  be 
mad!" 

"Nonsense !"  I  repeated,  closing  my  eyes  to  avoid 
seeing  the  swaying  furniture  and  the  shifting  sevens 
of  the  frieze,  "nonsense." 

The  hoarse  barking  of  dogs  was  now  heard  close 
at  hand.  The  Great  Danes  had  been  unchained  and 
were  approaching  the  house.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
they  must  be  very  annoying  to  the  invalid,  Aileen. 
I  said  so  to  the  maid  who,  since  my  act  of  insubordi- 
nation, had  sat  in  awed  silence  by  my  bed. 

"Mr.  Lannion  begged  me  to  be  very  quiet  when 
we  came  in,  so  that  we  should  not  disturb  any  one. 
But  those  dogs  would  wake  the  dead,"  I  said. 

85 


THE    PKISOKER   OF   OKNITH   FAKM 

"We're  all  fully  accustomed,"  was  the  subdued 
answer.  "Mrs.  Lucas  would  sleep  through  discharg- 
ing catapults,  and  Dr.  Despard  slumbers  only  by 
artificial  stimulants." 

"Mrs.  Lucas  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Yes,"  said  Delcie,  nodding  her  head  disapprov- 
ingly, "Mrs.  Malcolm  Lucas,  called  Aileen;  and  her 
marriage  was  not  compounded  in  heaven — no.  Mr. 
Malcolm  Lucas,"  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper, 
"is  cousin  to  Mr.  Lannion — but  he's  also  Satan's 
sure-enough  son.  And  that's  one  reason,"  she  added 
confidentially,  "why  I've  decided  against  matrimonial 
alliances.  First,  it  was  through  fear  of  Him  growing 
aged.  And  an  old  nigger" — relapsing  into  plain 
speech — "is  just  the  one  thing  I  can't  stand.  Lawsy, 
no !  Old  niggers  do  look  so  for  all  the  world  like  old 
monkeys.  Whether,"  speaking  meditatively,  "it's 
the  grizzled  hair  or  the  squizzled-up  lineaments,  I 
can't  just  exactly  determine.  Anyway,  since  being 
under  the  same  roof  with  Mr.  Malcolm  Lucas  (he's 
abroad  now),  I've  decided  ultimately  against  the  state. 
And  so  I  shall  inform  all  my  gentleman  friends." 

There  came  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Lannion!"  breathed  Delcie,  with  a  terrified 
look  at  me. 

I  closed  my  eyes  in  answer  to  her  unspoken  appeal, 
and  peeping  through  my  lashes  saw  her  open  the  door, 
finger  on  lips. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered  in  a  tone  of  respectful 
entreaty.  "Pray  hush,  sir.  She's  just  floating 
slumberwar  d. " 

"She  took  what  I  sent  ?"  asked  Mr.  Lannion.  His 
voice  had  a  keen  note  of  anxiety. 

"She  disposed  of  every  superfluous  drop,  sir,"  was 
the  answer. 

"Don't  forget  that  you  are  to  remain  with  her," 
he  commanded. 

86 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   EARM 

"No,  sir,"  said  Delcievere  meekly,  and  closing  the 
door  with  an  air  of  intense  relief,  she  returned  to  my 
side. 

Presently  she  began  to  sing — in  sweet  low  tones — 
the  hymns  of  our  church.  And  in  spite  of  the  east 
wind's  keening  cry,  and  the  baying  of  the  dogs,  I 
soon  fell  asleep. 


87 


VII 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  I  awoke,  but  the 
dull  light  deceived  me  into  the  belief  that  it  was 
still  early.  Delcie  was  not  in  the  room.  My  bath, 
however,  was  prepared,  and  my  toilet  for  the  day 
already  selected  and  placed  in  readiness.  Going  to 
one  of  the  windows  I  raised  a  corner  of  the  shade 
and  peeped  out.  Under  the  window  was  a  broad 
veranda  roof  and  just  beyond  its  edge  rose  two 
splendid  maple  trees.  Their  branches  touched,  in- 
termingled. 

"Baucis  and  Philemon !"  I  murmured,  and  thought 
fondly  of  the  "Wonder  Book"  and  of  the  nurse  who 
had  read  and  reread  its  pages  to  me. 

I  looked  anxiously  at  the  sky,  and  a  great  deal  of 
sky  could  be  seen,  since  there  were  no  trees  save  the 
two  maples  near  the  house.  First  came  a  wide  stretch 
of  trimly  kept  lawn,  then  many  acres  of  waving  grass 
and  clover,  ending  in  a  belt  of  woodland.  Beyond  the 
woods,  the  land  fell  away  abruptly,  allowing  the  eye 
to  wander  over  an  apparently  never-ending  world 
of  meadows,  groves,  and  farmsteads,  to  where  the 
Sound — a  light  gray  streak — lay  very  flat  beneath 
the  leaden  sky.  On  a  fine  day  this  view  would  be 
glorious,  I  thought,  and  would  give  one  a  sensation 
as  if  flying.  But  now,  with  a  strong  east  wind 
screaming  past  the  windows,  tearing  at  the  branches 
of  the  maples,  and  threatening  a  worse  tempest  to 
come;  with  a  sky  of  heavy  gray  clouds,  the  lower 
edge  of  each  outlined  darkly,  as  in  ink;  truly,  the 
view  was  very  dismal  from  Ornith  Farm. 

I  dropped  the  shade  and  turned  away.  Max  and 
88 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

Katie  might  come  early.  I  must  be  ready  to  meet 
them.  I  glanced  at  the  clock — it  was  half  past  nine  ! 
Distressed  to  find  it  so  late,  I  made  haste.  I  disliked 
being  again  obliged  to  wear  clothes  not  my  own,  and 
struggled  against  this  feeling.  I  must  not  be  un- 
grateful. 

The  yachting  suit  had  disappeared,  but  the  gown 
Delcie  had  chosen  was  no  less  ugly.  A  thin  summer 
silk,  plaided  in  the  same  garish  shades  of  blue,  and 
trimmed  with  a  quantity  of  beaded  passementerie. 
Because  of  Max's  coming,  this  tawdry  frock  annoyed 
me  doubly. 

I  was  again  at  the  window,  scanning  the  threaten- 
ing heavens,  when  Delcie  knocked.  She  was  pleased 
to  find  me  up  and  dressed,  and  said  that  she  would 
fetch  my  breakfast  at  once.  I  inquired  eagerly  about 
the  time  that  I  might  expect  Katie,  and  learned  that 
Mr.  Lannion  had  himself  gone  to  the  station  for  her. 

"Mr.  Lannion  will  not  return  before  mid-day," 
said  Delcie,  in  her  sweet  drawl,  "and  Mrs.  Lucas 
anticipates  the  agreeability  of  the  favor  of  a  visit 
from — "  She  hesitated,  then,  turning  to  leave  the 
room,  added:  "After  breakfast,  of  course." 

"My  name  is  Carmichael,"  I  said,  astonished  at 
her  lack  of  memory.  And  I  repeated,  "Carmichael, 
Miss  Carmichael,  Delcie." 

She  smiled  vaguely,  and  saying  something  about 
bringing  breakfast  directly,  slipped  away.  When  she 
returned  and,  later,  found  fault  with  my  want  of 
appetite — for  I  was  yet  too  giddy  to  care  for  food — 
she  was  still  unable  to  remember  my  name,  and 
showed  much  skill  in  avoiding  the  necessity  of 
using  it. 

"I'll  call  Master  Rodgers,"  she  said,  accenting  the 
d  heavily.  "He'll  enjoy  introducing  a  sweet  young 
lady  to  Mrs.  Lucas  and  to  his  mamma."  And  pick- 
ing up  the  tray,  she  left  the  room. 

89 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

After  a  few  moments  I  grew  tired  of  waiting  for 
Master  Rodgers  and  opening  my  door  looked  out.  I 
found  that  all  the  rooms  were  provided  with  outer 
doors  of  dark  green  baize.  Mine  was  fastened  back, 
as  was  that  of  the  room  nearest  the  top  of  the  stairs ; 
the  others  were  closed.  This  upper  hall  was  suffi- 
ciently well  lighted  by  the  rows  of  windows  on  the 
staircase  landings,  both  above  and  below,  but  it  was 
not  a  bright  place.  Perhaps  the  dull  gray  of  both 
carpet  and  walls  was  responsible  for  its  gloomy  as- 
pect— and  the  day  itself  was  sombre. 

Presently  I  heard  subdued  whistling  from  below, 
and  in  another  instant  a  small  boy  appeared  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  He  was  somewhat  out  of  breath 
from  whistling  and  running,  and  when  he  caught 
sight  of  me  he  seemed  to  lose  what  little  remained 
to  him,  for  he  gasped  and  stood  still.  He  was  a  thin 
freckled-faced  boy,  with  sparse  sandy  hair,  flattened 
down  in  points  on  his  forehead,  pale  blue  eyes  under 
sandy  eyebrows  and  lashes,  and  insignificant  features. 
But  he  looked  very  intelligent;  and  the  expression 
in  his  pale  blue  eyes  as  he  stared  at  me  was  one  of 
kindly  if  over-eager  curiosity.  He  wore  gray  knick- 
erbockers, a  gray  blouse  with  a  leather  belt,  gray 
stockings,  and  stout  shoes.  The  only  bit  of  color 
about  him  was  a  necktie  of  the  same  garish  blue  as 
the  frock  that  I  was  wearing. 

I  nodded  to  him,  smiling  reassuringly,  and  stepped 
out  into  the  hall,  closing  my  door  behind  me.  Look- 
ing much  pleased,  he  returned  my  smile,  displaying 
two  very  large  front  teeth,  and  advanced  quickly  to 
meet  me. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  though  answering  a  question, 
"I  got  'em  late.  Tombstones,  the  fellers  who  come 
here  call  'em.  I'm  nine,  I  am,  and  I  don't  go  to 
school.  Pop  teaches  me  when  he's  well  enough,  and 
when  he  isn't,  I  just  read."  Having  poured  forth 

90 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

this  information,  he  paused  to  take  breath  and  then 
said,  with  a  humorous  smile :  "Now,  I  guess  I've  told 
all  you  were  goin'  to  ask,  but  if  I  haven't,  just  fire 
away  and  we'll  get  through  with  it." 

I  smiled  again,  much  amused.  "I  am  used  to 
boys,"  I  said.  "I  wouldn't  have  asked  any  ques- 
tions." 

"Most  people  start  in  directly.  First  teeth,  then 
school.  Say,  are  you  any  relation  to  Grace  Darling  ? 
I've  got  a  picture  of  her  saving  lives  in  her  boat. 
You  don't  look  like  her;  her  hair's  black.  Any  re- 
lation ?"  I  shook  my  head.  Master  Rodgers  looked 
disappointed.  "Grace  Darling  had  grit,  Pop  says — 
pure  grit  clean  through.  Sure  you're  no  relation?" 

"Quite  sure,"  I  said.  "Why  did  you  think  I 
was  ?" 

"Same  name,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  But  as  I 
stared  at  him  in  astonishment,  he  became  very  red 
and,  looking  much  confused,  said  uncomfortably 
that  he  guessed  Aileen  was  waiting  and  would  I  please 
come  along? 

I  followed  to  the  door  nearest  the  staircase,  at 
which  he  knocked,  opening  it  immediately  after  and 
thrusting  in  his  head. 

"She's  here,"  he  announced  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
and  flinging  the  door  wide,  motioned  me  to  enter. 

I  did  so  and  found  myself  in  a  large  room  with 
windows  to  the  north  and  west.  A  wood  fire  smol- 
dered in  the  grate  and,  because  of  the  chill  of  the 
day,  its  warmth  was  pleasing. 

The  room  was  luxuriously  furnished,  but  here,  as 
everywhere,  dull  tints  had  been  chosen.  The  bed 
was  opposite  the  fire,  so  that  its  occupant  might  watch 
the  cheery  blaze  and  at  the  same  time  command  the 
fine  prospect  from  the  western  windows.  For,  the 
land  sloping  away  sharply,  one  could  see  the  far- 
distant  Hudson,  like  a  sword  without  its  scabbard, 

91 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

traversing  the  landscape.  To  the  north,  clumps  of 
trees,  planted  to  protect  the  house  from  cold  winds, 
shut  off  the  view. 

But  all  this  I  did  not  see  until  later.  For  the 
door  opening  toward  the  bed  served  as  a  screen,  and 
my  attention  was  at  first  arrested  by  the  extreme 
beauty  of  a  silver  crucifix  that  hung  above  a  little 
table — or  altar — placed  against  the  south  wall.  The 
crucifix  was  of  medium  size ;  the  figure  of  Christ — the 
White  Christ — so  wonderfully,  so  exquisitely  carved 
that,  as  I  gazed,  there  came  a  constriction  in  my 
throat.  The  patient  endurance  of  a  supreme  anguish 
was  so  marvellously  expressed  in  the  droop  of  head 
and  limbs. 

The  table,  covered  with  a  richly  embroidered  cloth, 
held  a  silver  bowl  filled  with  flowers,  and  two  tall 
candlesticks  of  silver,  each  furnished  with  a  thick 
wax  candle.  These  were  burning.  But  while  I 
looked  at  crucifix  and  altar,  Master  Rodgers  closed 
the  door,  and  the  invalid  whom  I  was  to  cheer  smiled 
at  me  from  among  her  pillows — scarcely  less  white 
than  they. 

My  heart  went  out  to  the  poor  young  creature  the 
moment  her  gentle  blue  eyes  met  mine,  and  I  was 
ashamed  that  I  had  grudged  her  one  week  of  my 
happy,  active  life.  She  held  out  a  kind  hand  to  me, 
and  told  me  how  glad  she  was  that  I  had  come  to 
stay  at  Ornith  Farm. 

"We  shall  try  to  make  you  enjoy  yourself,"  she 
said  wistfully,  her  soft  eyes  upraised  to  mine.  "I 
hope  you  won't  judge  of  the  place  by  the  way  it 
looks  to-day.  After  the  storm  is  over  we  shall  have 
lovely  summer  weather  again."  She  sighed  as  she 
ceased  speaking,  and  pushed  back  the  braid  of  thick 
red-gold  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  shoulder,  as 
if  its  weight  wearied  her.  Save  for  her  splendid 
hair  and  sweet  eyes,  she  was  without  beauty,  her 

92 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

features  being  too  large.  But  her  expression  was  very 
lovely;  she  looked  both  amiable  and  intelligent. 

Meanwhile,  Master  Rodgers  had  propelled  a  chair 
toward  me,  butting  it  with  his  head  as  he  shoved  it 
along.  "I'm  an  elephant,"  he  announced,  as  it 
reached  the  desired  position. 

"And  I  am  the  Queen  of  Siam?"  I  asked,  when 
I  thanked  him  and  sat  down. 

To  my  surprise  the  question  seemed  to  alarm  him, 
for  instead  of  answering  my  nonsense,  he  backed 
away  from  me  until  he  had  put  the  width  of  the  bed 
between  us.  From  this  vantage-point  he  stared  at 
me  with  doubting  eyes,  evidently  in  fear  of  what 
might  be  about  to  happen.  And  the  sweet-faced  in- 
valid appeared  to  share  the  boy's  incomprehensible 
dread.  A  deep  pink  stained  her  hitherto  pale  cheeks ; 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  me  again,  as  if  in  un- 
conscious appeal. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor — a  very  great  favor," 
she  said. 

Her  voice  shook ;  I  saw  that  she  spoke  with  effort. 
I  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  gently.  "Ask  what 
you  please,"  I  said.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  do  anything 
that  I  can  for  you." 

"It  is  just  that  you  will  let  me  call  you" — she 
hesitated,  her  color  deepened — "just  that  you  will  let 
me  call  you — Aimee ;  it  is  such  a  pretty  name !" 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  "if  that  pleases  you  better 
than  my  own."  I  wondered  at  her  strange  whim, 
although  willing  to  gratify  her. 

"Cousin  Rollis  had  a  very  dear  friend,"  she  went 
on  nervously,  her  eyes  downcast,  "a  Mrs.  Robert 
Darling,  of  Darlington — "  She  flashed  a  quick 
glance  at  me  and  became  silent. 

"Yes  ?"  I  said  inquiringly.  I  was  interested — re- 
membering Master  Rodgers'  strange  questions  in  the 
hall. 

93 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

"She — she  died,"  faltered  the  invalid,  "quite  re- 
cently." 

"Indeed?"  I  murmured. 

"Yes,"  Aileen  continued,  speaking  hurriedly,  "and 
if  you  don't  mind  I  would  like  to  pretend  that  you 
are  her  only  child,  here  on  a  visit  to  Cousin  Rollis — 
who  is  your  guardian,  dear  Aimee."  She  paused, 
quite  out  of  breath.  Very  much  fluttered,  as  was 
but  natural,  I  thought,  at  making  so  curious  a  request. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "if  that  would  amuse  you,  I 
am  quite  willing." 

A  heavy  sigh,  as  of  relief,  caused  me  to  look 
across  the  bed  at  the  boy.  Round-eyed,  he  smiled 
at  me  in  radiant  approval  of  my  decision,  the  two 
large  front  teeth  making  his  smile  doubly  telling. 

"Bully  for  you !"  he  said,  and  nodded  his  head  at 
me  many  times  with  great  energy. 

"Jolly  little  Chinese  mandarin !"  said  the  invalid 
fondly;  then  thanked  me  for  yielding  to  her  wishes. 
"And  you  must  call  me  Aileen,"  she  added,  "not  Mrs. 
Lucas — that  is  so  formal.  And  you  shall  be  Miss 
Aimee  Darling — while  you  are  at  Ornith  Farm." 

"To  everybody  ?"  I  asked  in  surprise,  and  secretly 
dismayed  by  the  idea. 

"Of  course,"  said  Aileen.  "It  will  be  such  fun !" 
She  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands,  as  if  greatly 
amused.  But  this  gayety  jarred  upon  me.  It  seemed 
forced.  "Go  ask  your  mother  to  come  now,  Roddy 
dear,"  she  continued,  turning  to  the  boy.  "Tell  her 
I  want  to  introduce  her  to  Miss  Darling." 

During  the  few  moments  that  followed  Aileen 
appeared  at  a  loss  for  conversation,  and  when  Roddy 
returned  bringing  his  mother,  she  showed  much  em- 
barrassment in  introducing  us. 

"This  is  Miss  Darling,  Mrs.  Robert  Darling's 
daughter,  dear  Henrietta,"  she  said,  and  again  the 
red  flamed  up  in  her  thin  cheeks.  "Cousin  Rollis  has 

94 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

brought  her  home  to  Ornith  Farm.  We  must  try  to 
make  her  very  happy  with  us." 

Rodgers's  mother,  a  squarely  built  woman  of 
medium  height,  whose  light  hair  owed  its  reddish 
tint  to  the  dye  pot,  made  a  stagey  bow  and  said  she 
was  pleased  to  meet  me.  As  I  looked  at  her  I  knew 
that  she  must  have  bought  the  clothes  I  was  wearing. 
Her  own  gown  was  the  same  ugly  shade  of  blue  as 
my  plaids  and  Roddy's  necktie.  Her  round  eyes 
were  like  the  boy's  in  color  but  not  in  expression; 
her  dull  complexion  was  roughened  from  an  over- 
use of  cosmetics.  Altogether,  her  appearance  did  not 
please  me,  and  I  felt  suddenly  shy  and  very  much 
alone. 

The  new-comer  rustled  around  the  bed  and  seated 
herself  opposite  to  me.  Her  manners  were  those  of 
a  second-class  actress  who  tries  to  play  the  gentle- 
woman. 

"You've  forgot  to  mention  my  name,  my  dear," 
she  said,  smiling  at  me  with  an  attempt  at  high- 
bred graciousness,  "so  I'll  tell  it  Miss  Darling  my- 
self. I  am  Mrs.  Luther  Despard.  My  husband  is 
Dr.  Despard.  Yes,  indeed.  And  this  is  my  boy,  L. 
Rodgers  Despard.  (Roddy,  make  a  bow.)" 

"Oh,  mother!"  ejaculated  Roddy,  much  discom- 
forted. 

"They've  met  already,  dear  Henrietta,"  murmured 
Aileen. 

"I  dislike  the  name  of  Luther  myself,"  Mrs. 
Despard  continued,  quite  as  if  the  others  had  not 
spoken,  "but  the  doctor's  heart  was  set  on  it,  it  being 
his  father's  name.  'Very  well,  Loo,'  I  said,  'have 
your  own  way,  but  Luther  it  shall  never  be,  only  L. — 
L.  Rodgers  Despard.'  Rodgers" — she  spoke  im- 
pressively, her  round  blue  eyes  fixed  intently  upon 
mine — "Rodgers — with  a  d" 

I  smiled  faintly,  since  I  was  evidently  expected 
95 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

to  be  pleased  by  this  announcement,  and  bowed, 
murmuring  I  knew  not  what.  I  felt  out  of  place, 
uncomfortable. 

"Rodgers,"  repeated  Mrs.  Despard,  "with  a  d." 

"Oh,  mother !"  exclaimed  Roddy,  in  remonstrance. 
His  thin  face  was  very  red,  and  he  stood  first  upon 
one  leg  then  upon  the  other,  after  the  manner  of  little 
boys  when  overcome  by  great  personal  embarrass- 
ment. 

"Rodgers,"  continued  his  mother  pompously,  "after 
my  mother's  father — and  with  a  d." 

"Well,"  burst  out  Roddy  in  sudden  desperation, 
"have  it  your  own  way,  then !  Pop  says  the  alphabet's 
free  to  all.  Put  in  four  ds  if  you  want,  or  a  whole 
million — I  don't  care!" 

"Roddy  Despard,"  cried  Mrs.  Despard  in  shrill 
command,  "look  me  in  the  eye !  Look  me  in  the  eye 
this  instant,  do  you  hear  me  ?  straight  in  the  eye !" 

To  my  surprise  this  order  threw  Master  Rodgers 
into  a  perfect  fury  of  insubordination  mixed  with 
panic.  He  danced  up  and  down  wringing  his  hands 
and  calling  out  in  a  suppressed  voice  that  he  wouldn't 
and  he  shouldn't  and  she  couldn't  make  him  do  it. 
Desirous  of  seeing  what  power  lay  in  the  maternal 
eye,  I  myself  looked  into  it  with  much  interest. 
But  to  me  the  hard  set  stare  of  Mrs.  Despard's  round 
orbs  expressed  absolutely  nothing. 

Aileen  now  interfered,  putting  an  end  to  the 
strange  scene  by  asking  if  Roddy  might  run  and  see 
if  her  broth  were  ready.  Mrs.  Despard  at  once  sent 
him,  in  as  commonplace  a  manner  as  though  nothing 
had  gone  wrong,  and  resumed  the  conversation  on  the 
same  subject. 

"Even  if  my  mother's  father  didn't  use  the  d," 
she  said,  looking  at  me  rather  defiantly,  "he  could 
have  if  he'd  had  a  mind  to,  I  guess.  But  the  doctor 
is  always  so  brusk  on  the  subject,  and  Roddy's  so 

96 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   FAEM 

smart,  he  picks  up  everything  his  father  says.  He's 
precocious,  Roddy  is" — this  very  proudly — "and  if 
he  could  go  to  school  he'd  do  wonderfully.  But," 
she  sighed  heavily,  "since  the  doctor's  got  to  be  so 
depleted  in  health  we  have  to  live  where  it's  best 
for  him,  and  Rollis  Lannion  asking  us  to  spend  the 
summer  here " 

The  door  was  opened  suddenly  cutting  her  sentence 
short,  and  Roddy,  looking  in,  announced  that  the 
broth  would  be  along  directly  and  the  carriage  was 
just  coming  in  the  gate.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  the  hot 
color  surging  into  my  cheeks  in  my  happy  excite- 
ment. 

"I  know  that  you  will  excuse  me,"  I  said  hastily 
— to  Aileen.  "I  must  run  and  meet  them.  I  have 
not  seen  them  since — since " 

I  could  speak  no  further  for  the  tears  and,  turning, 
hurried  into  the  hall.  As  I  was  closing  the  door  Mrs. 
Despard  spoke: 

"Poor,  poor  thing!"  she  said.  "Poor  distracted 
child!" 

But  I  was  too  much  absorbed  in  those  who  were 
coming  to  wonder  of  whom  she  was  speaking. 


VIII 

I  followed  Roddy  quickly  and  joined  him  as  he 
reached  the  entrance  door  under  the  staircase.  He 
grasped  its  big  knob  in  both  hands  and,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  informed  me  that  he  would  open  it. 
I  smiled  in  acquiescence.  In  my  breathless  ex- 
pectancy, speech  was  difficult.  The  carriage  whirled 
up  and  stopped.  Roddy  flung  the  door  wide.  A 
chilling  blast  rushed  in,  ruffling  my  hair,  enveloping 
me.  And  Mr.  Lannion,  running  swiftly  up  the  steps, 
caught  my  hand  and  drew  me  back  into  the  hall. 
He  was  alone. 

"Mr.  Errol? — my  maid?"  I  demanded,  almost 
sharply.  "What  has  happened  ?  An  accident — they 
are  hurt.  Oh,  Mr.  Lannion,  tell  me  quickly,  quickly, 
please !" 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  he  said,  smiling.  "They 
are  in  perfect  health.  What  a  foolish  child  to  tremble 
so!  And  you  will  take  cold,"  he  went  on  as,  still 
holding  my  hand,  he  led  me  across  the  hall.  "Come 
into  the  library.  I  will  light  a  fire,  and  you  shall 
have  a  glass  of  wine  to  bring  the  color  into  those  pale 
cheeks." 

We  entered  a  room  lined  with  tall  bookcases,  and 
Mr.  Lannion,  after  closing  the  door  upon  Roddy's 
inquisitive  little  face,  made  me  seat  myself  in  an 
arm-chair  drawn  close  beside  the  chimney-piece. 
Throwing  aside  his  hat  and  overcoat,  he  knelt  and 
lighted  the  blocks  of  wood  laid  ready  in  the  low 
grate. 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  he  repeated,  "and  you 
are  alarming  yourself  over  nothing.  This  grate  is 

98 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

intended  for  soft  coal,  but  I  prefer  wood.  The  heat 
is  much  pleasanter ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

But  I  was  in  no  mood  for  discussing  trivialities — 
for  this  light  chit-chat.  Indignant  pain  might  have 
chased  away  my  fears  had  my  faith  in  my  nurse  and 
my  lover  been  a  whit  less  strong.  And  back  of  them 
were  the  boys,  with  Mr.  Errol.  Had  aught  occurred 
to  keep  Max  and  Katie  from  me,  Mr.  Errol  and  the 
boys — yes,  even  Aunt  Caro ! — would  have  seen  to  it 
that  I  was  not  left  alone  among  strangers.  Indeed 
I  had,  in  my  inmost  heart,  expected  that  all  my 
people  would  hasten  to  rejoice  with  me  over  my  safety. 
I  had  felt  sure  that  not  one  member  of  the  dear  home 
group  would  be  willing  to  wait  another  week  before 
seeing  me  again — after  my  deadly  peril.  So  I  paid 
no  attention  to  my  host's  question,  but  again  demanded 
the  truth. 

"If  nothing  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Lannion,  why  does 
no  one  come  ?"  I  spoke  imperiously,  exasperated  at 
being  kept  in  ignorance — like  a  child. 

"I  have  a  letter  for  Aileen,"  he  said,  rising  and 
going  to  the  door.  "If  you  will  allow  me  I  will 
run  up  with  it  at  once.  It  is  from  her  husband — she 
will  want  it.  Then  I  will  answer  any  questions  you 
may  choose  to  ask."  He  smiled  back  at  me  as  he 
left  the  room,  an  expression  of  affectionate  solicitude 
softening  his  stern  features. 

My  brain  was  in  a  whirl  of  anxiety — bewilder- 
ment— impatience.  It  was  like  a  nightmare,  the  non- 
arrival  of  my  family  and  the  impossibility  of  getting 
at  the  truth.  I  left  my  chair  and  wandered  restlessly 
about  the  big,  formal  room.  The  huge  library  table 
in  the  centre,  the  tall  bookcases,  the  chairs  and  sofas, 
were  of  black  walnut.  The  velvet  curtains  and 
coverings  and  the  thick  carpet  were  dark  green. 
The  clock  and  candelabra  that  ornamented  the  gray 
marble  mantelpiece  and  the  ponderous  inkstand  and 

99 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

bookrack  on  the  table  were  all  of  bronze.  A  great 
mirror  that  might,  I  fancied,  conceal  a  door  leading 
into  the  parlor,  reflected  the  sombre  room ;  big  table, 
tall  bookcases — everything.  A  somewhat  ghostly  and 
altogether  depressing  replica. 

There  were  but  two  windows,  one  on  either  side 
of  the  fireplace;  tall  windows,  reaching  to  the  floor. 
Through  these  I  saw  a  sweep  of  dull  gray  sky  and 
a  stretch  of  lawn  and  trees.  Beyond,  here  and 
there,  a  bit  of  the  high  close  fence  that  shut  out 
both  view  and  highway.  I  was  gazing  vacantly  at 
this  gloomy  landscape  when  Mr.  Lannion  returned. 
He  carried  a  small  silver  salver  on  which  was  a 
goblet  of  milk,  and  at  his  heels  trotted  an  underbred 
bull  terrier.  The  terrier  was  very  much  too  large 
and  her  legs  were  too  bandy.  Save  for  a  liver-colored 
spot  on  her  side  and  another  over  one  of  her  pale, 
pink-edged  eyes,  she  was  pure  white.  She  was  very 
ugly  and  looked  ill-tempered.  I  would  have  greeted 
her  kindly  when  she  ran  to  inspect  me,  but  Mr.  Lan- 
nion spoke  sharply  to  her,  sending  her  away. 

"Go  and  lie  down,  Malvina,"  he  said,  "and  don't 
make  a  nuisance  of  yourself !"  Then  as  she  retired, 
miserable  and  crestfallen,  to  the  hearth-rug,  he  begged 
me  to  drink  the  contents  of  the  goblet.  "It  is  milk- 
punch,"  he  said.  "Jasper  makes  excellent  milk- 
punch.  It  is  just  what  you  need  to  build  you  up. 
You  must  have  one  at  noon  every  day."  He  glanced 
at  the  clock.  "It  is  now  twelve." 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  said  impatiently,  "I  would 
rather  not.  I  want  things  explained,  please.  I  beg 
you  will  not  keep  me  in  the  dark  any  longer.  Some- 
thing has  happened  that  you  fear  to  tell  me  but" — 
I  stopped  a  moment  to  take  myself  well  in  hand — 
"but  you  need  not  fear,  Mr.  Lannion." 

Lack  of  food  and  the  swinging  motion  of  the 
vessel,  from  which  I  could  not  free  myself,  made 

100 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

me  oddly  faint.  I  sank  down  upon  a  sofa,  finding 
it  difficult  to  stand.  Mr.  Lannion  drew  a  chair  close 
in  front  of  me  and,  seating  himself,  again  offered  me 
the  punch. 

"Drink  a  little,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "and  that  will 
encourage  me  to  talk.  Jasper  will  take  it  hard  if 
you  don't  care  for  his  punch." 

I  hastily  swallowed  some.  "Mr.  Lannion,  please 
tell  me.  My  people — they  are  really  well  ?" 

"I  swear  it,"  he  said  gravely.  "Now  will  you 
drink  your  punch?" 

In  desperation  I  drank  the  over-sweet  mixture  and, 
satisfied,  my  host  put  the  glass  on  the  table  and  re- 
seated himself  as  before. 

"I  bitterly  regret  my  long  tongue,"  he  said,  his 
compelling  eyes,  as  Katie  had  called  them,  fixed  upon 
mine.  "I  talked  too  much  about  myself.  I'm  not 
usually  guilty  of  such  rank  egotism.  But  you  will 
soon  be  better — and  forget  it  all.  I  have  been  very 
lonely,  dear  little  Aimee.  As  lonely  as  all  who  have 
brains  must  necessarily  be.  Think  what  it  means  to 
me  to  have  you  here!  A  ray  of  sunshine  in  my 
house — and  heart." 

I  stared  at  him  in  wonder.  What  did  he  mean. 
"You  have  not  talked  about  yourself,"  I  said,  striv- 
ing to  be  civil,  "but  I  want  you  to  talk  about  my 
affairs  now,  please.  What  is  the  matter  ?  Why  does 
no  one  come  to  me  ?  Why  don't  I  have  even  a  letter 
from  home  ?" 

He  sighed,  then,  taking  my  hands  in  his,  said  very 
gently:  "You  forget  that  this  is  home  now,  dear 
child.  I  hate  to  remind  you  of  your  recent  loss — to 
speak  of  your  poor  mother.  Ah,  if  only  you  would 
try  to  overcome  these  unfortunate  fancies  that  have 
taken  possession  of  you!  If  only  you  would  strive 
to  remember  the  past,  sad  as  it  is !  I  would  rather 
you  fretted  for  the  old  Canadian  homestead,  for 

101 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

pretty  Darlington,  for  my  sweet  friend,  your  mother, 
than  to  see  you  as  you  are,  my  Aimee." 

His  manner  frightened  me,  although  I  thought 
that  having  heard  of  the  invalid's  whim  he  now  but 
amused  himself  by  playing  with  it. 

"Since  Mrs.  Lucas  is  ill,"  I  said,  and,  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  spoke  haughtily,  "I  am  willing  that  she 
should  call  me  by  any  name  that  pleases  her,  Mr. 
Lannion.  But  I  prefer  to  be  Miss  Carmichael  when 
she  is  not  present." 

"My  poor  child,"  he  said  sadly.  "My  poor  deluded 
little  girl!" 

"Mr.  Lannion,"  I  cried  imperiously,  "I  can't  stop 
here  for  a  week,  after  all.  I  must  go  home  at  once — 
I — "  I  ceased  speaking,  silenced  by  the  expression 
in  his  gray-green  eyes — a  wearied  look  of  patient 
endurance. 

"Aimee,"  he  asked  gravely,  "have  you  forgotten 
everything  about  the  past  ?  It  is  so  terribly  sad  for 
me  to  have  you  imagine  yourself  that  poor  drowned 
girl.  Try  to  be  reasonable,  try  to  forget  my  impru- 
dent talk.  If  only  I  had  not  shown  you  that  wretched 
newspaper !  I  can't  think  what  made  me — and  then 
to  tell  you  of  my  meeting  her  as  a  child,  and  again 
later !  I  had  no  business  to  forget  your  abnormally 
vivid  imagination — I  can't  forgive  myself !" 

A  flood  of  strange  thoughts  swept  into  my  mind; 
while  Roddy's  questions  about  Grace  Darling,  the 
invalid's  embarrassment  when  making  her  peculiar 
request,  and  Mrs.  Despard's  remark  when  she  thought 
I  had  left  the  room,  crowded  back  into  my  brain. 
Then  I  remembered  Delcie's  unwillingness  to  use 
my  name.  Who  was  the  drowned  girl  of  whom  Mr. 
Lannion  spoke  ?  I  tried  to  steady  myself.  I  looked 
away  from  the  man  before  me  toward  the  fire. 
Malvina,  squatting  on  the  hearth-rug,  stared  furtively 
back  at  me,  blinking  her  light,  pink-edged  eyes, 

102 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

licking  her  pink  lips.  I  felt  I  must  get  upstairs,  and 
quickly.  But  first,  I  must  ask  one  question. 

"I  think  it  unkind  of  you  to  jest,  Mr.  Lannion," 
I  said,  and  my  voice  shook,  "and  it  is  a  jest  that  I 
fail  to  comprehend.  Who  is  the  drowned  girl  of 
whom  you  speak  so — so  curiously?" 

"I  am  glad  that  you  have  to  ask,"  he  said  quietly. 
"It  is  a  good  sign,  and  one  that  rejoices  my  heart. 
And  now  let  me  show  you  some  pictures  that  may 
please  you." 

But  I  stuck  to  my  point  even  as  I  had,  the  past 
summer,  stuck  to  my  saddle  when  the  new  roan  ran 
away.  Now — so  it  seemed — I  was  riding  a  night- 
mare that  might  run  away  with  my  reason,  unless 
I  conquered  it,  as  I  had  conquered  the  roan. 

"Finish  your  jest,  pray,"  I  said;  "it  is  time  that 
it  ended.  What  is  the  name  of  the  dead  girl,  Mr. 
Lannion  ?" 

"The  newspapers  are  ringing  with  her  tragic  story" 
— he  looked  at  me  intently  as  he  spoke — "and  it  is 
my  fault  that  you  saw  one.  I  met  her  twice — as  I 
imprudently  told  you.  Once  when  she  was  a  little 
child;  once  again,  when  she  was  a  bright  young 
creature  in  her  teens.  The  dory  in  which  she  was 
adrift  has  been  found;  empty,  save  for  a  wreath  of 
flower-de-luce.  Her  family  know  her  to  be  dead." 
He  caught  my  ice-cold  hands  and  held  them  firmly. 
"Think  how  it  pains  me  to  have  you  imagine  your- 
self this  poor  drowned  girl — this  Hope  Carmichael !" 

A  black  fog  seemed  to  have  entered  the  room,  to 
be  swinging  up  and  down  between  Mr.  Lannion  and 
me.  I  knew  at  last  that  he  was  not  in  jest  but  in 
strange  earnest.  I  tried  to  rise  but  could  not.  His 
eyes  held  me,  gleaming  through  the  mist. 

"You  are  my  ward,  you  are  Aimee  Darling,  and 
I  swear  to  make  you  happy  at  Ornith  Farm." 

I  made  a  desperate  effort.  I  struggled  to  my  feet. 
103 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Then  the  blackness  closed  down  upon  me,  there  came 
a  sound  as  of  heavy  surges  rolling  up  the  beach — 
did  I  see  flashes  of  scarlet  satin — of  the  wreckers' 

fires ? 

Mr.  Lannion  caught  me  and  carried  me  quickly  up 
the  staircase  to  my  room. 

For  a  time  I  was  not  quite  myself,  I  think,  since, 
while  I  knew  that  Delcie  was  tending  me  and  that 
I  was  being  got  to  bed,  I  was  convinced  that  I  was 
the  victim  of  a  nightmare  and  dared  not  open  my 
eyes.  I  cried  piteously  for  Katie  to  come  to  me — 
to  wake  me — to  hold  me  in  her  arms.  It  was  not 
until  I  had  been  in  bed  for  some  moments  that  my 
brain  steadied  itself  sufficiently  for  me  to  realize 
where  I  was.  Then  I  heard  some  one  enter  the  room. 
I  looked  up.  Delcie  and  a  stranger  were  bending 
over  me,  while  all  the  sevens  in  the  frieze  stood  on 
tiptoe — watching. 

The  stranger  was  tall  and  thin.  His  hair  and 
eyes  were  intensely  black,  the  latter  very  bright, 
with  the  hard  metallic  lustre  that  betrays  ill  health, 
while  his  complexion  was  of  a  dead  greenish  white — 
although  thick.  His  features  were  clearly  cut,  the 
nose  high;  and  he  wore  a  mustache  and  imperial — 
the  former  waxed — thus  increasing  a  resemblance  to 
the  third  Napoleon. 

"You  are  a  doctor?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  smiling  kindly.  He  had  a  pleasant 
smile.  It  gave  me  courage.  "I  am  Dr.  Despard,  and 
you  are  to  drink  this  nice  cordial."  He  slipped  his 
arm  beneath  my  pillow  and  deftly  lifted  my  head 
higher,  while  he  held  a  wine-glass  to  my  lips. 

"It  is  to  make  me  sleep  ?"  I  questioned. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "and  to  help  you  to  grow  strong." 

"No,"  I  said  feverishly,  "no,  I  won't  take  it;  I 
don't  wish  to  sleep  but  to  go  home.  An  hour's  rest 

104 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

— then  I  can  get  up.  There  must  be  an  afternoon 
train — and  you  will  help  me,  oh,  I  am  sure  that  you 
will  help  me  to  get  away  from  here,  to  go  home !" 

I  looked  into  his  face  eagerly.  Its  expression  of 
quiet  gravity  did  not  change.  I  saw  myself  reflected 
in  the  shining  pupils  of  his  hard  black  eyes.  He 
withdrew  his  arm  from  beneath  the  pillow  and  stood 
upright. 

"You  must  lift  her,  Delcie,"  he  said ;  "it  is  beyond 
me  this  morning." 

Delcie  came  forward  quickly  and  would  have 
obeyed  him  but  I  stopped  her.  "No,  no,"  I  cried; 
"you  don't  understand,  Dr.  Despard ;  you  must  let  me 
explain.  I  promised  Mr.  Lannion  I  would  spend  a 
week  here — but  I  cannot.  I  must  go  home  to-day. 
Listen,  please  listen,"  and  I  poured  forth  my  story. 

I  told  him  everything  that  had  to  do  with  my 
present  position.  I  spoke  not  only  of  my  betrothal 
day,  with  its  fatal  ending,  and  of  my  subsequent 
rescue  and  journey  to  Ornith  Farm,  but  I  told  also  of 
the  two  previous  meetings  with  Mr.  Lannion — the 
first,  when  I  was  a  little  child,  and  that  later  one,  on 
the  day  that  my  Serge  was  killed.  Then  I  described 
the  scene  in  the  library  and  repeated  Mr.  Lannion's 
terrifying  words. 

"He  is  probably  only  jesting,"  I  said,  and  my 
voice  trembled,  "but  he  frightens  me.  I  must  go 
home.  I  am  not  very  well,  I  think.  I  want  my  own 
people.  Will  you  telegraph  them  that  I  am  coming  ? 
I  know  you  are  not  strong,  so  I  won't  ask  you  to 
go  with  me  to  the  station — Delcie  will,  won't  you, 
Delcie  ?"  Delcie  turned  her  comely  face  away.  She 
sighed  heavily.  I  scarcely  noticed,  absorbed  in  my 
appeal  to  this  doctor  who,  as  such,  must  surely  under- 
stand. "It  comforts  me,"  I  went  on,  with  an  attempt 
at  a  little  laugh,  a  very  poor  attempt,  "to  know  that 
you  won't  wish  to  call  me  out  of  my  name.  The  jest 

105 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

is  not  an  amusing  one  to  yon,  I  can  see,  any  more  than 
to  me.  I  am  Mary  Carmichael,  Dr.  Despard,  but 
my  family  call  me  Hope." 

I  held  out  my  hands  to  him  unconsciously  as  I 
ended  my  petition.  I  was  painfully  agitated.  There 
was  something  very  discouraging  in  his  expression 
— in  its  unchanging  kindliness.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  he  would  give  credence  to  Mr.  Lannion's  fabri- 
cation instead  of  believing  my  story,  that  a  doctor 
would  mistake  the  false  for  the  true  ? 

"A  very  pretty  name,"  he  said  gently,  "but  at 
present  that  does  not  matter.  What  you  have  to  do 
is  to  strengthen  your  nerves.  You  could  not  stand 
a  journey  to-day,  so  why  desire  it  ?  If  you  will  drink 
this  medicine  for  me,  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  for  you 
— I  will,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"You  will  help  me  to  get  home?"  I  persisted. 
"You  will  send  a  telegram  to  my  family  now  ?  Will 
you  write  it  for  me,  please  ?  Somehow  I  can't  manage 
to  sit  up — everything  swings  so !" 

Very  patiently  Dr.  Despard  complied  and  took 
down  the  long,  long  message — almost  a  letter — that 
was  to  carry  my  wishes,  and  my  loving  greetings,  to 
those  at  home. 

"You  will  see  that  it  goes  at  once,  Dr.  Despard — 
yes  ?"  as  he  bowed  in  acquiescence.  "Ah,  how  good 
you  are  to  me !  Indeed,  indeed  I  am  grateful." 

"Then  drink  this,"  he  said. 

Anxious  to  show  my  thankfulness  I  obeyed.  He 
smiled  approvingly  and,  wishing  me  a  refreshing 
sleep,  left  the  room.  As  he  was  passing  out,  he 
spoke  to  some  one  in  the  hall;  he  did  not  lower 
his  voice. 

"Don't  take  it  so  hard,"  he  said  cheerfully ;  "she'll 
be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  I  think." 

A  question  was  asked.  I  did  not  hear  it,  but  part 
of  Dr.  Despard's  answer  reached  me  distinctly: 

106 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"They  always  dislike  their  best  friends,  Rollis,"  he 
said,  "when  suffering  from  mental  delusion." 

The  door  closed.  I  started  up  in  bed,  terror- 
stricken.  "Oh,  Delcie,"  I  wailed,  "what  shall  I  do — 
what  shall  I  do  ?  Ah !" — I  stared  at  her  in  horror — 
"you  believe  it,  too.  I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  ~No,  no, 
don't  touch  me,  don't  come  near  me !  I  will  go  home 
— I  will  get  up — I " 

She  caught  and  held  me  as,  half  frantic,  I  tried 
to  struggle  out  of  bed.  She  besought  me  to  have 
patience,  to  wait — to  wait  only  till  the  morrow. 
Then,  cradling  my  forlorn  young  head  upon  her 
breast,  she  strove  to  soothe  me  with  caresses,  with 
tender  words. 

"Go  by-low  on  Delcie's  heart,  honey-love,"  she 
whispered  protectingly.  "Delcie  will  stay  close,  close 
to  her  bright  young  bird,  never  fear !" 

I  clung  to  her,  weeping  bitterly.  But  as  she  fondled 
me,  the  powerful  drug  dulled  my  senses  and  I  sank 
into  a  very  stupor  of  sleep. 


107 


IX 

"!N"o,  I'm  not  bigotried,"  said  Delcie.  "I  opine 
that  Romantic  Catholitism  is  better  than  nothing- 
ness. The  priest  that  comes  to  Ornith  Farm — Mrs. 
Lucas'  minister — seems  unhurtful.  (A  little  fat 
gentleman;  hurrying  in,  scurrying  out;  his  eyes 
•watching  his  own  fat  feet  flying,  and  never  looking 
at  no  one  whatsomever. )  No,  I'm  not  bigotried — but 
I  knew  my  honey-love  was  Eepiscopalian-born  the 
minute  I  observed  her !  There's  differences,  'normous 
differences.  And  we  Eepiscopalians-born  can't  help 
consciousnesses  of  them." 

She  tossed  her  head,  a  smile  of  gentle  pride  curv- 
ing her  full  lips.  She  was  seated  by  the  window 
darning  stockings — Roddy's  stockings.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  holes  everywhere  in  Roddy's  stockings. 
I  lay  in  bed,  as  I  had  lain  for  the  past  three  days; 
always  thinking — thinking. 

It  was  a  lovely  June  morning.  The  scent  of  the 
flowering  grasses  was  wafted  in  through  the  open 
casement.  The  big  maples,  Baucis  and  Philemon, 
whispered  together,  rustling  their  branches  softly, 
very  softly. 

I  had  kept  my  room  ever  since  Mr.  Lannion  had 
carried  me  there,  after  the  scene  in  the  library.  It 
seemed  a  very  long  time — so  much  had  I  suffered 
and  thought.  At  first  I  had  pleaded  with  Dr.  Des- 
pard,  begging  him  at  least  to  prove  my  insanity 
by  sending  for  the  Carmichaels  and  Errols.  Let 
them  see  me  and  renounce  me  before  he  decided 
upon  my  case.  Finding  that  he  would  not,  that  he 
insisted  upon  crediting  Mr.  Lannion,  I  assailed  him 

108 


THE   PRISONER    OP    ORNITH   FAKM 

with  bitter  reproaches,  with  denunciations  of  his 
conduct,  and — at  last — I  went  so  far  as  to  promise 
a  large  sum  of  money  if  he  would  but  set  me  free. 

To  pleadings,  reproaches,  and  attempted  bribe  he 
turned  alike  a  deaf  ear.  He  was  patient,  courteous, 
attentive,  and  most  earnest  in  his  effort  to  restore  my 
health ;  and  he  saw  to  it  that  no  one — save  Delcie — 
entered  my  room.  This  last  being  the  one  request 
that  he  granted  me.  When  I  would  permit,  he  talked 
of  Mr.  Lannion,  of  his  affection  for  my  mother  (Mrs. 
Robert  Darling).  Their  friendship,  Dr.  Despard 
assured  me,  had  endured  for  years,  and  it  was  because 
of  this  friendship  that  Mr.  Lannion  had  become  my 
guardian  and  brought  me — when  Mrs.  Darling  died 
— to  live  with  him  at  Ornith  Farm. 

I  had  cried  out  at  first  against  this  monstrous 
fiction.  Then  reason  had  bidden  me  hear  everything 
that  I  might  of  my  enemy — of  his  story.  Because  of 
my  upbringing  I  was  at  a  great  disadvantage.  Even 
my  thinking — as  far  as  might  be — had  been  done 
for  me.  The  time  had  come  when  I  must  learn  to 
take  care  of,  to  think  for  myself.  I  found  it  hard — 
wellnigh  impossible.  But  I  had  faith  in  Max.  I 
knew  that  he  would  not  believe  me  dead  until  years 
had  come  and  gone.  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  persist 
in  thinking  that  I  had  been  rescued — that  to  him  the 
empty  dory  would  carry  not  despair  but  the  belief 
that  I  had  been  saved.  Even  now,  I  said  to  myself 
with  reviving  courage,  everything  was  being  done  that 
determined  love  could  do  to  find  me.  And  I  must 
exert  myself — I  must  do  my  part.  So  I  set  my  un- 
accustomed wits  to  work  and  lay  very  still  while 
Delcie  prattled,  thinking — thinking — trying  to  choose 
a  wise  plan  of  action. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  sought  to  fathom  Mr.  Lan- 
nion's  motive  in  imprisoning  me.  The  only  reason 
that  I  could  imagine  he  might  have  for  his  in- 

109 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

comprehensible  as  well  as  criminal  behavior  came 
from  a  memory  of  Katie's  comment  when — years 
before — I  had  told  her  of  the  miniature.  She  had 
suggested  his  having  lost  a  little  sister  whom  I  closely 
resembled.  Had  he  dwelt  so  long  upon  this  chance 
resemblance  that,  when  he  rescued  me,  the  cruel  idea 
had  entered  his  brain  of  changing  my  identity  that 
he  might  replace  the  dead?  This  conception  was 
fantastic,  even  absurd — yet  what  other  reason  might 
there  be  ?  Finally  I  gave  up  trying  to  understand, 
and  concentrated  all  my  untrained  mental  powers 
upon  the  course  that  I  should  pursue. 

"If  I'd  been  bigotried,"  continued  Delcie,  in  sweet 
drawling  tones,  "I  would  never  have  accompanied  a 
gentleman  friend  to  a  meeting-house  (church  he 
called  it,  but,  lawsy  me,  'twasn't  nothing  but  a  Baptist 
meeting-house!).  The  congregation  was  formulated 
of  Southern  niggers — no  Northern  colored  present 
but  me  and  my  gentleman  friend — and  when  those 
Southern  niggers  spied  me,  my,  but  they  were  mad ! 
They  couldn't  endure  my  superiority  of  style,  and 
elegancies  of  dress  and  mannerisms.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  muscularity  of  my  gentleman  friend  they'd 
have  thrown  me  down  the  gallery  stairs  at  the  moment 
of  dispersement  and  trampled  me — they  would  in- 
deed!" 

"Delcie,"  I  said,  forgetting  in  the  excitement  of 
sudden  decision  to  express  a  polite  interest  in  her 
story,  "Delcie,  will  you  please  ask  Mr.  Lannion  to 
come  2" 

Making  an  ineffectual  effort  to  conceal  her  delight 
in  the  commission,  Delcie  went  quickly  from  the 
room.  I  had  woven — oh,  so  carefully ! — a  little  net 
in  which  to  entangle  Mr.  Lannion's  many  falsehoods. 
He  would  be  forced,  I  thought,  to  confess  his  wrong- 
doing and  to  send  me  home.  Propped  high  on  my 
pillows  I  looked  through  the  open  windows  across 

110 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

the  acres  of  waving  grasses  and  tall  tree-tops  of  the 
woodland  to  the  far-away  fields  and  homesteads,  and 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Sound.  The  air  was  filled  with 
the  songs  of  birds.  They  nested  in  the  swaying  field- 
grass,  in  the  trees  of  the  little  wood,  and  among  the 
boughs  of  the  two  great  maples.  And  from  the  num- 
ber of  swallows  circling  past,  I  knew  that  the 
chimneys,  too,  were  filled  with  nests.  The  place  was 
well  named  Ornith  Farm. 

"Miss  Honey-Love,"  cried  Delcie,  returning  from 
her  errand  with  her  hands  full  of  morning-glories, 
"I  just  discovered  these  long-tailed  trailers  outside 
the  door!" 

She  tossed  the  sprays  with  their  delicate  filmy 
trumpets  down  upon  the  coverlet,  then  amused  her- 
self twisting  them  here  and  there  until  the  quilt 
boasted  a  wondrous  design  in  flowers.  I  looked  lov- 
ingly at  the  fragile  blossoms ;  palest  pink,  veined  with 
a  deeper  tint ;  pure  white  trumpets ;  others  of  delicate 
blue  streaked  with  snow.  The  flowers  of  my  month. 

"Lawsy  me!"  exclaimed  Delcie,  in  a  tone  of  as- 
tonishment mingled  with  awe,  "I've  'broidered  in  a 
superabundance  of  sevens  without  intention." 

I  saw  that  the  vines  were — in  many  places — 
tangled  and  looped  into  that  number,  and,  glancing 
quickly  upward,  caught  all  the  sevens  of  the  frieze 
staring  down  at  their  doubles. 

"You  do  appear  most  sweetly  beautiful!"  cried 
Delcie,  in  a  sudden  rapture  of  affectionate  admira- 
tion. "Any  one  would  suppose  you  decorated  for 
mortuary  purposes." 

As  she  finished  speaking  Mr.  Lannion  knocked. 
Although  I  had  thought  that  I  fully  realized  how 
distressing  this  interview  would  be,  I  had  not  known 
that  I  should  find  it  difficult  even  to  look  at  my 
jailer.  But  my  aversion  was  so  intense  that  at  the 
first  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  endure  his  looking  at  me. 

Ill 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  had  a  childish  desire  to  turn  and  hide  my  face  upon 
my  pillow.  And  while  I  answered  his  greeting,  I 
could  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"My  poor  little  Aimee,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the 
chair  that  Delcie  placed  for  him  beside  my  bed, 
"what  a  sad  home-coming  this  has  been  for  you !  I 
am  more  than  thankful  that  you  feel  able  to  see  me 
to-day.  I  have  suffered  from  the  most  poignant 
anxiety." 

"I  am  quite  well  now,  thank  you,"  I  said. 

I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  raise  my  eyes  to  his — 
and  failed.  It  was  only  the  determination  to  help 
those  who  were  even  now — so  I  believed — searching 
for  me  that  enabled  me  to  keep  to  my  part.  I  had 
rehearsed  the  scene  that  was  now  being  enacted  over 
and  over,  always  successfully  entangling  and  worsting 
my  adversary.  It  had  not  begun  as  I  had  expected, 
but  I  still  had  faith  in  my  ultimate  success. 

"It  would  do  you  good  to  get  out  of  doors,"  said 
Mr.  Lannion.  "I  will  carry  you  downstairs,  if  I 
may." 

"No"  I  answered  shortly. 

"Jasper,  then,"  he  urged.  "Jasper  is  strong  and 
trustworthy." 

I  made  another  effort,  and  lifted  my  eyes  to  his 
face.  "I  cannot  get  up,"  I  said  quietly ;  "I  have  no 
suitable  clothes." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  them  ?"  he  asked  quickly, 
in  evident  surprise. 

Having  at  last  faced  him  I  regarded  him  steadily, 
and  I  thought  he,  too,  must  have  passed  some  sleep- 
less nights.  There  were  circles  under  his  watchful 
eyes  and  he  had  a  harassed  look.  His  manner  was 
humble,  as  of  one  fearful  of  offending.  As  our  eyes 
met,  he  smiled  deprecatingly  and,  leaning  forward, 
he  ventured  to  take  my  hand  in  his.  I  drew  it  away. 

"I  am  in  mourning,"  I  said. 
112 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   EARM 

This  was  my  trap.  I  had  imagined  that  he  would 
exclaim,  and  ask  me  for  whom  I  mourned.  Instead, 
he  looked  well  pleased. 

"Despard  told  me  I  might  hope  for  a  great  im- 
provement," he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself ;  then, 
with  a  quick  change  of  manner,  added :  "I  don't  be- 
lieve in  young  people  mourning,  but  Mrs.  Despard 
will  get  you  some  black  frocks,  if  you  wish." 

"What  became  of  my  first  mourning  ?"  I  demanded, 
hoping  still  to  have  him  at  fault. 

"You  have  forgotten  that  you  insisted  upon  giving 
it  away !"  he  exclaimed,  as  in  pained  surprise.  "But 
that  does  not  matter,"  he  said  hastily,  with  assumed 
cheerfulness.  "Tell  Mrs.  Despard  what  you  would 
like  to  have,  and  she  will  run  up  to  town  for  the  day 
and  get  the  things  for  you." 

I  was  suddenly  so  very  angry  that  the  color  rushed 
into  my  face.  Yet  I  knew  that  were  I  to  give  vent  to 
my  feelings,  it  would  help  Mr.  Lannion.  Invective, 
vituperation,  from  my  lips,  would  but  increase  the 
belief  in  my  insanity.  Delcie,  who  was  sewing  so 
placidly  by  the  window,  rejoiced  over  my  desire  to 
see  my  guardian.  She  took  this  peaceful  interview 
as  a  sign  of  my  return  to  health.  To  lull  suspicion 
was  my  only  chance  for  escape. 

"I  will  not  have  Mrs.  Despard  choose  my  things," 
I  said,  when  I  had  regained  sufficient  control  over 
myself  to  be  able  to  speak ;  "her  taste  is  too  bad." 

"Bad  ?"  questioned  Mr.  Lannion ;  and  for  the  first 
time  he  looked  discomforted. 

"Yes,  bad,"  I  said  imperiously.  "And  I  won't 
wear  such  vulgar  clothes — such  cheap  finery!  It's 
not  fit  to  wear." 

"Vulgar  ?"  he  echoed.  "Cheap  finery  ?"  and  I  saw 
that  he  was  really  distressed.  "Why,  the  amount 
I  wired  her  to  spend  was  large  enough,  Heaven 
knows!"  He  went  to  the  armoire,  opened  it,  and, 

113 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

taking  out  one  gown  after  another,  held  each  up  in 
turn,  stared  at  it,  then  flung  it  down  upon  the  floor. 
"The  colors  are  glaring,  I  admit,"  he  said,  eying  the 
motley  heap  with  great  disfavor,  "but  as  to  cheapness 
— vulgarity — "  He  paused  and  looked  at  me. 

"They  are  over-trimmed  with  cheap  stuff,"  I  ex- 
plained, "and  the  materials  of  which  they  are  made 
are  pretentious,  tawdry." 

"Yet  they  are  of  silk,"  he  urged,  leaning  down 
and  fingering  the  mass — still  wondering  if  I  were 
in  earnest. 

"Tinny  silk,"  I  said  pettishly.  "But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  I  want  Delcie  to  get  my  things.  She 
will  know  how.  I  want  black,  very  black  frocks.  I 
am — in  how  deep  mourning  am  I,  Mr.  Lannion  ?" 

He  turned  abruptly  and  stood,  his  back  toward  me, 
looking  out  of  the  window.  "Your  mother  died  three 
months  ago,"  he  said  in  low  tones. 

Again  I  was  hot  with  anger.  But  it  was  righteous 
wrath  and,  somehow,  it  steadied  me.  Mr.  Lannion's 
powerful  figure  filled  up  the  window.  It  was  as 
though  he  were  purposely  shutting  out  the  light  from 
me.  I  looked  down  upon  my  coverlet,  gay  with  the 
lovely  morning-glories  and  their  long  vines  of  five- 
pointed  leaves.  I  took  up  one  spray  and  pressed  it 
close  against  my  aching  heart.  I  chose  another  vine 
of  blooms,  fastened  it  to  the  first,  and — continuing — 
soon  had  a  long  rope.  Mr.  Lannion,  having  finished 
his  survey  of  the  landscape,  returned  to  his  chair 
beside  my  bed.  I  made  a  noose  in  the  end  of  my 
long  tether,  a  slip-noose. 

"Delcie  may  go  to  town  to-morrow,  Mr.  Lannion  ?" 
I  spoke  very  gently. 

"Certainly,"  he  said.  "And  what  are  you  making, 
Aimee  ?"  He  watched  my  busy  fingers  curiously. 

"Something  for  you,"  I  said  quietly. 

"A  wreath  ?"  he  demanded  eagerly. 
114 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FARM 

"And  if  it  were?"  I  said.  "Would  that  please 
you?" 

"A  victor's  wreath?"  he  said  meaningly,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  mine.  "Nothing  could  please  me  better. 
Is  it  a  wreath,  Aimee  ?" 

"Lean  forward,"  I  commanded;  but  I  spoke  very 
softly  that  Delcie  might  not  hear.  "Stoop  down, 
and  you  shall  wear  what  I  have  made." 

His  hard  eyes  softened  as  he  obeyed,  and  he  paled 
slightly.  "Dear  little  girl,"  he  murmured,  bending 
his  tall  head. 

I  slipped  the  loop  I  had  made  over  his  rough  brown 
hair  till  it  lay  around  his  throat.  The  long  tether 
dangled  against  his  breast  and  fell  to  the  floor.  He 
touched  the  flowers  gently  with  his  powerful  fingers. 

"The  wreath  is  too  large,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "or  is 
it  intended  for  a  necklace,  Aimee  ?" 

I  lay  back  among  my  pillows.  I  felt  quite  faint 
after  my  exertion.  His  strange  face  had  been  so  near 
mine.  I  gathered  together  the  vines  still  untouched 
and  held  them  close.  My  flowers.  They  must  be  to 
me  as  a  buckler  and  a  shield.  I  looked  across  their 
pure  trumpets  at  the  oddly  decorated  man,  and  an- 
swered his  question. 

"It  is  a  necklace,"  I  said  steadily.  "But  it  is  gen- 
erally called  a  halter.  I  lay  the  end  of  it  in  the  hands 
of  Justice.  One  day  she  will  draw  it  tight." 

He  smiled  at  me  pityingly.  "Poor  little  child!" 
was  all  he  said,  but  he  broke  the  noose  and  tossed 
the  long  rope  upon  the  heap  of  frocks  behind  him  on 
the  floor.  "If  it  does  not  tire  your  head  too  much" 
— he  rose  as  he  spoke — "tell  Delcie  what  to  buy  for 
you.  But  you  must  not  over-exert  yourself — your 
mind  needs  rest."  And  he  left  the  room. 


115 


Mr.  Lannion  had  scarcely  closed  the  door  behind 
him  before  Delcie  was  rummaging  through  the  chest 
of  drawers  in  a  determined  search  for  something  that 
I  might  be  willing  to  wear.  She  finally  unearthed 
a  thin  white  frock  that  she  declared  would  be  quite 
suitable  if  the  lace  trimming  were  ripped  off. 

"With  black  ribbons  around  her  waist  and  con- 
fining her  golden-tressed  curls,"  she  said  gravely, 
"my  young  lady  can  descend  in  this  habiliment"- 
she  held  up  the  dress — "to  the  drawing-room.  Not," 
speaking  reflectively,  "that  the  drawing-room  is  as 
yet  thoroughly  upholstered — but — well — lawsy  me ! 
it'll  be  a  sight  better  for  you  downstairs  than  cooped 
up  here  with  that  know-nothing  Richmond  Nanny — 
who  hasn't  the  remotest  idea  of  conversational  re- 
quirements whatsomever." 

So  when  Nanny,  the  pretty  chamber-maid,  ap- 
peared the  next  morning  to  take  Delcie's  place,  she 
found  that  her  task  was  to  be  a  short  one.  I  an- 
nounced my  intention  of  going  down  to  the  veranda 
at  eleven.  Delcie  dressed  me  with  affectionate  care 
before  leaving,  braiding  my  hair  in  a  club  and  tying 
its  broad  black  ribbon  with  the  air  of  a  solicitous 
nurse  caring  for  a  small  child. 

"And  you'll  observe  if  the  bow  of  my  young  lady's 
sash  ribbon  is  properly  outspread  when  she  proceeds 
downward,"  she  said  severely  to  the  bashful  Nanny, 
"and  that  that  long-legged  Solomon  Jasper  attends." 

"Yaas,  m'm,"  said  poor  Nanny  humbly,  weighed 
down  by  the  responsibility  laid  upon  her.  And  dur- 
ing the  two  hours  that  passed  before  Solomon  was 

116 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKTTH   FARM 

summoned,  she  only  opened  her  lips  to  answer  "yaas, 
m'm,"  or  "no'm,"  to  my  well-meant  questions. 

I  refused  the  aid  of  Solomon,  but  he  stalked  be- 
hind me  as  I  made  my  slow  way  downstairs.  I  had 
dreaded  passing  Aileen's  door,  fearing  that  she  might 
call  to  me ;  but  it  was  closed.  And  Roddy  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  The  gray  twilight  of  the  lower  hall 
was  not  unpleasing  on  that  warm  June  morning. 
The  glass  door  at  the  farther  end  stood  wide,  and 
through  it  I  saw  the  lawn,  the  acres  of  hay  land  yet 
unmown,  and  the  little  wood  beyond.  The  warm  haze 
of  mid-day  heat  softened  the  atmosphere  and  brought 
out  the  scent  of  the  tall  flowering  grasses.  I  stepped 
upon  the  wide  veranda  where  were  lounging  chairs 
and  hammocks  in  plenty,  and  looked  about  me,  hoping 
to  find  myself  alone.  In  this  I  was  disappointed,  for 
directly  in  front,  upon  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  his 
back  against  a  pillar,  his  straw  hat  tilted  over  his 
nose,  sat  a  man  apparently  napping.  He  proved  to 
be  only  indulging  in  a  reverie,  however,  for  he  rose 
to  his  feet  with  a  marvellous  agility  and  was  pushing 
forward  a  lounging  chair  for  my  use  before  I  had 
much  more  than  glanced  at  him. 

"This  is  the  pick  of  the  lot,  Miss  Darling,  my  word 
for  it,"  he  said  in  a  soft  pleasant  voice.  "I've  sampled 
'em  all."  He  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled  at  me  cheer- 
fully. 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  returning  the  smile  and 
accepting  the  chair.  I  intended  to  be  agreeable  to 
every  one — even  to  Mr.  Lannion,  if  I  could. 

The  stranger  beamed  with  satisfaction  and  fetched 
a  cushion  for  my  head.  "Lie  right  back  and  laze  for 
all  you're  worth,"  he  advised  comfortably ;  "that's  the 
ticket  when  you're  feelin'  the  worse  for  wear.  I  just 
sit  and  ruminate  like  any  old  cow  when  I'm  here.  It 
rests  me  awfully — even  if  the  cud  I'm  chewin'  isn't 
so  all-fired  sweet.  I  guess  cows  have  a  chunk  of 

117 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

bitterish  cud  in  their  cheeks  now  and  then  that  has 
to  be  munched  down,  else  why  that  sweet  childish 
verse  ?" 

He  removed  his  hat,  placed  it  carefully  upon  the 
veranda  floor,  moved  his  feet  close  together,  and  pull- 
ing at  his  fingers  after  the  fashion  of  nervous  little 
girls  when  speaking  a  piece,  recited  in  a  high  quaver- 
ing treble: 

"  Do — not — eat — the — hem-lock — rank — 
Grow-ing — on — the — weed-y — bank — 
But — the — plea-sant — cow-slip — eat — 
That — will — make — it — nice — and — sweet ! " 

Then  he  giggled,  looked  about  him  quickly,  as  if 
taking  a  hasty  glance  at  an  audience,  and  picking 
up  his  hat  as  though  it  were  a  bouquet,  backed  awk- 
wardly to  the  veranda  edge  and  sat  down,  with  his 
back  against  the  pillar  as  before. 

"Trouble  is,"  he  said  gloomily,  resuming  his  hat 
and  his  own  personality,  "weedy  banks  attract  cows — 
and  us.  That  is,  banks  do.  We  aren't  so  set  on 
having  'em  weedy." 

"No,"  I  agreed  civilly;  "banks  ought  to  be  safe." 

"Yes,"  he  muttered. 

"I  had  ten  cen's, 
I  put  it  on  the  fence — 
I  haven't  seen  that  ten  cen's  sence!" 

I  watched  him  with  great  curiosity.  I  had  never 
met  any  one  like  him  before.  He  was  a  plump  man 
of  medium  height,  with  broad  shoulders  and  well- 
developed  calves.  From  the  way  he  moved,  the  ease 
with  which  he  got  up  especially,  I  knew  that  he  must 
have  had  an  athlete's  training.  Indeed  he  seemed 
made  of  India-rubber.  His  face  was  like  one  of 
those  comical  rubber  faces  that  can  be  squeezed  into 
a  variety  of  absurd  grimaces  at  the  will  of  the  holder. 

118 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

He  was  smooth-shaven,  and  his  complexion  as  pink 
as  that  of  a  healthy  baby.  His  light-gray  eyes  were 
round  and  as  changing  in  expression  as  his  face. 
His  eyebrows  were  black,  and  what  remained  of  his 
hair — the  greater  part  of  his  head  was  perfectly  bald. 
I  thought  that  he  looked  very  good-natured. 

"Solomon,  thou  wisest  among  mortals,"  he  cried 
suddenly,  "take  thy  depressing  presence  elsewhere !" 
I  glanced  quickly  toward  the  door,  but  no  one  was 
to  be  seen.  "He  lurketh  within,  even  as  an  evil-doer 
or  an  enemy,"  continued  my  odd  companion,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  vacancy;  "his  presence  disturbeth  me!" 
Then,  dropping  into  a  confidential  tone,  he  said 
coaxingly:  "Get  out,  Solly  dear,  do;  there's  a  sweet 
little  boy.  I'll  fetch  and  carry  for  Miss  Darling. 
You  go  play  in  the  pantry — or  in  the  infernal 
regions.  I  don't  care  where  you  go,  so  long  as  you 
stop  playin'  pleeceman."  He  took  off  his  straw  hat 
and  began  fanning  himself  fiercely.  "Woof!"  he 
cried,  expanding  his  lungs  as  if  to  inhale  all  the  air 
possible.  "I  can't  stand  being  watched  when  I'm 
idle.  If  I'm  whittlin'  now,  I'm  willing  enough  to 
have  the  little  ones  gather  'round,  but  I  like  to  loaf 
in  peace." 

As  he  talked  I  became  every  moment  more  inclined 
to  appeal  to  him  for  aid.  My  heart  began  to  beat  with 
painful  rapidity.  Yet  I  must,  I  knew,  speak  calmly, 
else  I  might  not  expect  to  have  my  story  believed. 
The  sweet  air  of  mid-day,  the  glorious  view  from  the 
high  veranda,  the  gentle  twitter  of  the  birds  hidden 
among  the  thickly  leafed  branches  of  the  two  great 
maples  close  at  hand,  made  my  strange  position  seem 
like  some  monstrous  nightmare.  Surely  I  could  find 
help  did  I  but  seek  it  rightly !  And  I  felt — now  that 
the  house  walls  no  longer  hemmed  me  in — that  escape 
was  not  a  forlorn  hope,  but  a  near  certainty.  Yet 
while  the  sense  of  freedom,  brought  by  being  once 

119 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

more  out  of  doors,  restored  my  courage,  I  struggled 
in  vain  for  sufficient  composure  to  speak  quietly  and 
convincingly  of  my  situation  to  this  stranger.  The 
opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  lost.  I  made  a  very 
great  effort  and  in  a  faint  voice  began : 

"Would  you  kindly  rearrange  these  cushions  for 
my " 

But  he  did  not  hear  me,  for,  as  I  spoke,  Malvina 
emerged  stealthily  from  the  house  and  absorbed  his 
entire  attention.  With  the  quickness  of  a  cat  he  was 
upon  his  feet  and  clinging  to  the  pillar  against  which 
he  had  been  leaning,  in  an  affected  agony  of  ter- 
ror. His  teeth  chattering,  jaw  dropped,  and  with 
his  eyeballs  starting  from  his  head,  he  stared  at  the 
approaching  bull  terrier.  She  did  not  at  first  see 
him,  and  had  advanced  a  few  paces  toward  me — the 
object  of  her  interest — when  he  cried  out  her  name 
in  a  quavering  falsetto  and  brought  her  to  an  abrupt 
halt. 

"Mally,"  he  wailed,  "Viny,  lovely  Mally-vina,  per- 
lease,  per-lease  go  away !" 

He  shuddered  violently  and  pretended  to  strive 
desperately  to  climb  the  protecting  pillar.  Malvina, 
looking  sheepish  and  woe-begone,  dared  not  move, 
but  stood  still,  staring  dully  at  her  tormentor. 

"Turn,  oh,  turn  those  lustrous  orbs  away,"  he  con- 
tinued, releasing  the  pillar  and  flinging  out  his  arms 
in  passionate  entreaty ;  "they  burn  with  awful  fire ! 
I  cannot  stand  their  gaze." 

As  he  spoke  he  removed  his  hat  and  threw  it  so 
dexterously  at  Malvina  that  it  fell  upon  her  head  with 
the  effect  of  an  extinguisher.  She  bore  the  burden 
meekly  for  a  moment,  then  shook  it  off  and  went  on 
staring  helplessly  as  before.  The  man  advanced  step 
by  step,  shivering  as  with  a  very  ague  of  terror, 
stretched  out  a  trembling  hand,  and  drawing  the  hat 
cautiously  away^  backed  rapidly  toward  his  pillar. 

120 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FAKM 

He  dropped  the  hat  upon  his  head  so  that  it  rested 
jauntily  on  one  ear,  and  thrusting  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets,  again  confronted  Malvina. 

"Yah !"  he  exclaimed,  in  the  tone  of  a  contemptu- 
ously belligerent  small  boy,  "why  didn't  you  bite  my 
head  off,  say  ?  I'll  tell  you  why,  Malviny  Lannion, 
'cause  you  dassent !  If  I  had  sech  pink  optics  as 
you've  got,  I  wouldn't  wink  and  blink  at  folks  so,  I 
wouldn't!  And" — with  a  grin  of  derision — "ef  I 
wore  a  patch  over  one  of  'em,  I'd  wear  a  black  patch, 
I  would — not  a  liver-colored  one.  It's  not  a  patch 
but  a  spot,  ma'am,  nothing  but  a  spot!"  Then, 
changing  swiftly  from  comedy  to  tragedy,  he  shook 
out  imaginary  trailing  draperies  and,  pointing  an 
accusing  finger  at  the  miserable  but  fascinated  Mal- 
vina, cried  in  awful  tones:  "Out,  damned  spot! 
Out — out — out,  I  say!" 

With  each  "out"  he  strode  nearer  his  victim,  who 
backed  before  him,  her  light  eyes  uplifted  in  terror 
to  his  face.  Reaching  the  door,  she  paused  for  an 
instant,  not  at  once  daring  to  turn  and  run  away, 
but  upon  her  enemy  bursting  into  a  paroxysm  of 
laughter,  she  darted  in  as  if  driven  by  an  unseen 
hand.  The  stranger's  laughter  was  so  infectious,  al- 
though but  assumed,  that,  forgetting  my  troubles 
for  the  moment,  I  laughed  in  sympathy.  He  held 
his  sides,  seeming  to  be  overcome  by  mirth,  then,  re- 
seating himself  upon  the  veranda  edge,  became  sud- 
denly very  serious. 

"Malvina,"  he  said  reflectively,  "detests  me.  I 
can't  imagine  why.  The  only  reason  she  doesn't 
bite  me  is  because  she  can't  make  up  her  mind  on 
which  of  my  calves  to  begin.  Then,  too,"  he  went  on, 
"I  never  give  her  the  chance.  I'm  like  that  old 
person  of  Cadiz 

" '  Who  was  always  polite  to  the  ladies.' 
121 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FAEM 

I  never  turn  my  back  to  any  member  of  the  fair  sex, 
least  of  all  to  Malvina  Lannion.  Etiquette  must  be 
remembered  when  that  sweet  dorgie  is  'round.  Oh !" 
he  rose  quickly,  "here's  Mrs.  Despard  and  the  infant 
come  to  join  us.  Roders-with-a-d,  or  d-Rodgers,  get 
mamma  a  chair." 

Rodgers,  who  preceded  his  mother,  grinned,  as  in 
appreciation  of  an  old  but  well-liked  jest,  while  its 
author  himself  placed  a  chair  for  Mrs.  Despard  when 
she  bustled  out.  She  greeted  me  nervously,  very  much 
as  though  she  fancied  I  might — because  of  my  crazed 
condition — have  forgotten  her  already. 

"I'm  real  glad  to  see  you  out,  Miss  Darling,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  pushing  the  chair  offered  her  so 
roughly  along  the  veranda  to  my  side  that  it  squeaked, 
and  left  a  long  mark  on  the  floor.  "Nanny  told  me 
you  was  down,  and  Roddy  and  me  thought  we'd  come 
out  and  keep  you  company  for  a  little." 

I  said  what  civility  required  and  smiled  at  the 
boy,  who  watched  me  with  timid  curiosity. 

"Now  you're  here,  Mrs.  Despard,"  said  my  former 
companion,  "perhaps  you'll  be  good  enough  to  intro- 
duce me  to  Miss  Darling.  Malvina  came  out  to  do 
the  honors,  but  she  found  the  atmosphere  too  exciting 
for  her  nerves  and  left  before  she  had  attended  to 
her  duties  as  mistress  of  the  house." 

"How  you  do  run  on,  Tommy  King!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Despard,  in  tones  of  coquettish  remonstrance, 
rolling  her  hard,  staring  blue  eyes  and  smiling. 
"What  will  Miss  Darling  think  of  your  nonsense! 
I  met  Mally  just  fairly  scuttling  into  the  library  as 
we  come  downstairs,  and  I  knew  you'd  been  teasin' 
the  poor  creature.  She's  all  right,  Miss  Darling," 
turning  to  me,  "if  you  treat  her  right.  Just  look 
her  in  the  eye,  firm,  and  she  behaves  like  a  lamb.  As 
for  Mr.  King  here —  Oh,  I  was  forgetting!  Miss 
Darling,  Mr.  King — Mr.  King,  let  me  make  you 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

acquainted  with  Miss  Darling."  Mr.  King  and  I 
exchanged  salutations.  "Tom  King,  as  I  was  sayin'," 
continued  Mrs.  Despard,  "will  get  bit,  and  serve 
him  right.  But  I  treat  her  with  firmness ;  I  just 
look  her  in  the  eye.  Are  you  fond  of  music,  Miss 
Darling?  Yes?"  as  I  responded  in  the  affirmative. 
"So  am  I.  Now  that  dorg  of  Rollis  Lannion's  just 
hates  it.  Yes,  she  does.  Why,  the  very  moment  I 
begin  to  sing  she  brustles  up  and  looks  as  fierce  as 
fierce !  But  I  just  raise  my  banjo — I  sing  to  banjo 
'companiment  quite  a  little — and  look  her  in  the 
eye,  firm,  and  she  runs.  Roddy,  go  get  mother's 
banjo  and  I'll  give  Miss  Darling  some  music — it'll 
cheer  her  up." 

"Oh,  mother,"  remonstrated  Roddy,  "don't  sing 
now.  Pop's  asleep." 

"No,  he  isn't,  Rodgers,"  insisted  Mrs.  Despard; 
"he's  hurryin'  to  get  down  to  see  Miss  Darling. 
There,"  she  said  coaxingly,  "run  along  like  my  own 
sonny-boy  and  get  me  the  instrument.  I'll  just  have 
time  for  a  few  of  my  shansonns  before  lunch." 

With  lagging  steps  the  child  obeyed,  and  presently 
returned  with  a  large,  much-beribboned  banjo,  which 
he  deposited  in  his  mother's  lap.  Then  he  turned 
to  go. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  stay  for  mother's  music  ?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Despard,  in  tones  of  tragic  disappoint- 
ment. 

"No'p,"  said  Rodgers  stubbornly,  "I  ain't,"  and 
he  ran  away. 

Mr.  King  groaned  gently;  whether  in  discom- 
forted anticipation  of  the  coming  songs  or  because 
of  Rodgers's  bad  taste  in  fleeing  them,  I  did  not 
know. 

"I  was  on  the  stage  when  I  married  Loo  Despard, 
Miss  Darling,"  remarked  Mrs.  Despard,  as  she  tuned 
her  banjo  with  energetic  stumpy  fingers,  "and  I'm 

123 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   PARM 

free  to  confess  I'm  sorry  I  ever  come  off.  It's  hard 
lines  to  quit  bein'  the  public's  darling,  and  take  to 
darning  socks  for  a  private  individual — and  foolish 
as  well.  Which  I  would  never  have  done  it  had  I 
not  supposed  that  Loo  Despard  was  a  man  as  would 
make  his  mark  in  the  medical  world."  She  laid 
her  banjo  down  upon  her  stout  lap  and,  leaning  across 
it,  said  impressively:  "Which  Loo  Despard  might 
have  done  easy,  Miss  Darling,  only  he  wouldn't. 
He's  smart  enough,  as  any  one  can  tell  you,  although 
he  is — as  he  continually  alludes  to — the  son  of  a  plain 
farmer  from  upper  N'York.  Not  but  what  my 
parents  were  farmers,  too  (they'd  have  been  called 
commoners  in  England,  meaning  folks  which  prefer 
mingling  in  country  life  before  town,  though  high- 
born— which  my  mother's  father  was  Rodgers  with 
a  d  when  he  choose  to  put  it  in).  Which  I  never 
could  stand  country  life  for  my  own  part,  Miss 
Darling;  and  Nature  havin'  blessed  me  with  a  voice 
— I  can  fill  a  hall  of  any  size — I  went  to  Par-y" — she 
accented  the  first  syllable  heavily — "and  onto  the 
stage.  'Twas  there  I  met  Loo  Despard — which  the 
result  you  see.  Here  we  are,  livin'  in  this  dull  hole 
with  his  old  friend  Rollis  Lannion  which  thinks  he's 
too  sick  a  man  to  work,  when  all  the  time " 

"Say,"  drawled  Mr.  King,  interrupting  the  flood 
of  words  ruthlessly,  "I  thought  you  were  going  to 
carol  a  warble  ?" 

Mrs.  Despard  stared  from  Mr.  King  to  the  banjo 
in  her  lap  as  if  she  had  forgotten  the  presence  of 
both,  and  wondered  to  see  them.  Then,  recovering 
herself,  she  smiled  at  the  former,  adjusted  the  latter, 
and  began  to  sing.  She  had  not  boasted  too  much 
in  regard  to  the  power  of  her  voice.  It  was  so  loud 
that  I  regretted  civility  forbade  my  seeking  the  most 
distant  corner  of  the  veranda.  Harsh,  rasping,  it 
grated  on  my  nerves,  and  I  was  little  surprised  when 

124 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

Mr.  King,  feigning  to  have  heard  some  one  calling 
him,  followed  Roddy  at  the  end  of  the  first  chanson. 
"Tommy  King  hasn't  any  more  ear  for  music  than 
Rollis  Lannion's  Malvina,"  said  Mrs.  Despard,  watch- 
ing Mr.  King's  retreating  figure  with  disapproval, 
"but,"  eying  me  with  satisfaction,  "I  guess  you  have. 
I  saw  you  start  when  I  begun.  I  thought  I  should 
surprise  you."  I  said  that  she  had  surprised  me, 
and  she  was  much  pleased.  "Before  I  went  to  Pary," 
she  continued,  nursing  her  banjo  and  resuming  her 
reminiscences,  as  if  talking  of  her  past  attracted  her 
even  more  than  singing,  "before  I  went  to  Pary  I 
sung  in  JST'York.  Then  I  tried  London,  and  after 
London,  Pary.  I  feel  sure,"  she  went  on,  "that  I'd 
have  made  a  big  success  in  Pary  if  I'd  had  the  chance. 
But  you  see  I'd  just  learned  some  few  shansonns  and 
got  ready  to  start  in  when  I  met  Loo  Despard.  I 
thought  he  had  a  lot  of  money — he  spent  a  lot, 
I  know — and,  well,  you  see  he  hadn't,  and — here 
we  are.  Rollis  Lannion  used  to  know  Loo  years 
ago,  and  he  imagines  Loo  is  sicker  than  he  is,  so 
he  asked  us  here.  Rollis  is  a  queer  man.  He 
lets  people  live  with  him,  but  when  it  comes  to 
spending  money  out  of  hand — lending  it,  you 
know — he's  awful  stingy.  Loo  says  he  was  kep' 
dreadful  close  when  he  was  a  boy,  which  he  had  an 
awful  hard  time,  Loo  says,  which  accounts,  of  course, 
for  his  being  kinder  queer.  He's  in  N'York  to-day. 
He  took  Delcievere  to  get  your  things.  I  wouldn't 
expect  much,  if  I  was  you.  They'll  be  few  and 
bought  cheap,  I  expect.  I  done  what  I  could  with 
what  he  wired  me  to  spend.  I  got  a  good  many 
things  for  the  money,  I  think,  and  pretty  ones,  too. 
I  hate  to  wear  the  same  old  dud  week  in  week  out, 
don't  you?  I  like  a  variety — it's  the  spice  of  life, 
you  know.  And  I  do  understand  colors.  Blue,  now, 
I  'most  always  wear  blue" — she  had  on  a  blue  and 

125 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

white  striped  cambric — "and  I'm  particular  as  to 
shade.  I  hate  your  dull  dreary  blues,  there's  nothing 
chick  about  them.  A  dull  blue  is  my  bate  nore. 
That's  the  one  thing  that  Aileen  and  I  disagree  on, 
colors.  The  poor  girl's  got  no  taste.  But  then  she 
wasn't  never  to  Pary.  Pary  educates  the  eye."  She 
ceased  speaking  and  stared  solemnly  at  me. 

"Has  Mrs.  Lucas  been  ill  long?"  I  inquired. 

"Goin'  on  two  years,"  was  the  answer,  "and  that 
mare  alive  yet.  If  I'd  been  Rollis  Lannion  I'd  have 
had  her  shot  after  she  threw  that  poor  girl  and 
damaged  her  back  past  curing — which  she  made  him 
promise  he  wouldn't,  and  there  she  is  eatin'  her  head 
off  in  the  stable,  a  regular  she-devil.  Rollis  Lannion 
can't  ride  her  because  she  ain't  up  to  his  weight,  and 
Aileen  won't  let  Malcolm — which  I  wish  she  would 
and  break  his  neck.  No,  Ashtaroth,  as  she's  called 
(meanin'  Queen  of  the  Heavens,  because  of  a  white 
half  moon  on  her  black  forehead),  is  living  like  a  lady 
with  the  meadow  to  roll  in  and  a  box  stall  to  herself — 
biting  and  kicking  all  she  pleases,  while  poor  Aileen 
lies  a-bed  never  to  rise  again." 

Mrs.  Despard's  rasping  voice  became  suspiciously 
shaky,  and  when  she  finished  her  story,  she  drew  out 
a  small  kandkerchief  with  a  broad  border  of  common 
lace,  and  blew  her  nose  noisily. 

"I  sometimes  think  I've  a  touch  of  hay-fever,"  she 
said,  wiping  her  eyes,  "I  have  such  sneezing  turns. 
But  speakin'  of  that  black  mare  of  Aileen's,  I  believe 
in  the  old  saw : 

"'One  white  foot,  buy  him; 
Two  white  feet,  try  him; 


Three  white  feet,  look  well  about  him — 

(which  Malcolm  Lucas  oughter  have  done). 

" '  Four  white  feet,  go  without  him. 
Four  white  feet  and  a  white  nose ' 

126 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

which  Ashtaroth  hasn't,  but  the  four  white  feet  are 
all  there,  which,  as  I  was  sayin' —  Oh!"  as  Solo- 
mon appeared  carrying  a  tray,  "what  you  got  there, 
Jasper?  Oh,  I  see;  Miss  Darling's  milk-punch. 
Here,  I'll  give  it  to  her,  but,"  she  lowered  her  voice, 
"you  just  wait  in  the  hall  till  I  call  you." 

Although  I  knew  that  this  order  was  given  that 
Mrs.  Despard  might  have  assistance  at  hand  in  case 
I  suddenly  became  possessed  with  a  desire  to  run 
away,  I  could  not  feel  angry  with  her.  She  showed 
such  true  kindliness  in  her  wish  to  wait  upon  me; 
coaxing  me  to  drink  the  punch  with  so  hearty  a  de- 
sire to  see  me  regain  my  health. 

My  luncheon  was  served  on  the  veranda,  and  I 
spent  the  afternoon  out  of  doors.  Mr.  King  swung 
a  hammock  for  me  between  the  two  maples,  mount- 
ing into  their  high-trimmed  branches  by  the  aid  of 
Solomon's  step  ladder.  Later,  he  read  poetry  to  me, 
and  read  it  so  well,  with  so  much  feeling,  that  I 
wondered.  I  took  care  to  be  in  my  room  before  Mr. 
Lannion  returned,  and  I  walked  softly  past  Aileen's 
open  door.  I  had  done  as  much  as  I  could  for  that 
day.  I  needed  to  be  alone.  For  although  I  knew 
I  ought  not  harbor  resentment  against  any  at  Ornith 
Farm  save  Mr.  Lannion  and  Dr.  Despard,  at  times 
I  had  difficulty  in  not  hating  them  all.  And  the 
horror  of  my  unnatural  situation  so  overcame  me 
when  I  was  shut  up  again  between  the  four  walls 
of  my  room  that,  regardless  of  the  presence  of 
Nanny,  I  flung  myself  face  downward  upon  my  bed 
and  gave  way  to  despairing  tears. 

I  cried  myself  into  a  semi-stupor  from  which  Del- 
cie  roused  me,  bustling  in  cheerful  and  important 
after  her  day  in  town.  Pretending  not  to  notice  my 
miserable  condition  she  sat  down  beside  me,  stroked 
my  hair  softly  with  her  kind  hand,  and  related  her 
day's  experiences.  At  first  I  did  not  listen,  but  little 

127 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

by  little  my  attention  was  gained,  and  her  comment 
upon  Mr.  Lannion  proved  interesting. 

"Of  course,"  she  drawled  reflectively,  "gentlemen 
are  all  wonderfully  astonished  over  the  cost  of  ladies' 
habiliments.  The  comic  journals  now  are  replete 
with  jokes  on  the  subject  of  ladies'  hats.  But  Mr. 
Lannion  always  thought  I  had  mistaken,  or  the  sales- 
man elongated,  the  price  of  each  article.  To  be  sure, 
when  I  explained  how  delighted  my  young  lady 
would  be  over  the  garment  chosen,  Mr.  Lannion 
ceased  his  objectings."  She  giggled,  looked  wicked, 
and  dropping  into  vulgar  parlance  exclaimed: 
"Lawsy  me,  but  I  bought  a  lot !  I  made  the  dollars 
fly!  And  I  do  hope,"  lowering  her  voice  to  a  ca- 
ressing murmur,  "that  my  Miss  Honey-love  will  bear 
me  out." 

My  cheeks  flushed  with  anger  as  I  listened.  So 
Mr.  Lannion  grudged  money  spent  on  his  prisoner! 
Since  this  was  the  case  he  should  spend  a  great  deal. 
I  would  try  to  please  each  member  of  his  household, 
but  I  would  torment  him  in  every  way  that  I  could. 

I  was  very  young,  quite  incapable  of  judging 
what  I  ought  to  do.  My  plan  of  conduct  changed 
with  every  hour,  my  very  unhappiness  unfitting  me 
for  self -guidance. 

To  escape,  to  escape,  but  how?  It  would  take  a 
week  perhaps,  I  said  to  myself ;  but  surely,  God  help- 
ing, not  longer  than  a  week. 


128 


XI 

"Sometimes  lie  pretends  to  forget,  and  calls  the 
child  Todgers  and  Toddy.  Then,  when  he  sees  that 
Henrietta  is  really  vexed,  he  apologizes  and  says  in- 
nocently that  he  thought  it  was  Todgers,  Todgers — 
with  a  d.  But  Tommy  wouldn't  be  Tommy  if  he 
didn't  tease,  and  he  is  really  the  kindest-hearted  man 
in  the  world." 

It  was  Aileen  who  spoke,  and  she  laughed  as  she 
recalled  the  sayings  of  her  favorite,  Mr.  King. 
Many  days  had  passed  since  my  coming  to  Ornith 
Farm,  and  my  people  had  made  no  sign.  Neither 
had  I  been  able  to  do  anything  to  help  myself.  Del- 
cie  slept  in  my  room,  and  by  day  I  was  never  left 
unguarded.  My  strength  had  returned.  I  hoarded 
it  carefully  as  my  only  weapon.  I  would  need  much 
strength  when  the  time  for  escape  should  come. 

Delicious  warmth  floated  in  through  Aileen's 
wide-thrown  windows;  warmth,  and  the  scents  and 
songs  of  summer.  The  perfume  of  July  flowers — 
the  voices  of  birds  and  bees.  In  the  silver  bowl  on 
the  altar  beneath  the  crucifix  red  roses  exhaled  their 
sweetness.  And  the  White  Christ  read  me  a  lesson 
of  endurance.  Who  was  I  that  I  should  cry  out 
against  my  burden  of  sorrow,  when  He  bore  the 
burden  of  all  the  sorrows  of  mankind  ?  I  folded  my 
hands  humbly:  "Dear  Lord,  help  me!"  I  prayed. 
But  silently — and  Aileen  went  on  chatting  of  her 
friends. 

"Poor  Henrietta !"  she  said  kindly,  "she  does  have 
rather  a  lonely  time.  And  she  dearly  loves  a  crowd. 
The  dear  soul  doesn't  in  the  least  realize  that  Cousin 

129 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Rollis  can't  ask  people  to  call  upon  her.  It  wouldn't 
do,  you  know.  If  I  were  able  to  be  up  and  about 
he  might  like  to  entertain,  but  Henrietta  could  not 
receive  his  friends.  Dr.  Despard  is  different,"  she 
continued,  "although  he  is  not  to  the  manner  born 
any  more  than  his  wife.  He  and  Cousin  Rollis  used 
to  play  together  when  they  were  boys — you  know 
how  it  is  in  lonely  country  neighborhoods.  Cousin 
Rollis's  grandfather  owned  lots  of  land  and  a  grand 
old  house.  When  Cousin  Rollis  was  in  his  teens 
something  awful  happened;  I  never  heard  what. 
And  his  grandfather,  who  must  have  been  a  dread- 
ful old  man,"  she  lowered  her  voice,  and  glanced 
apprehensively  toward  the  door  to  make  sure  that 
it  was  closed,  "got  rid  of  everything  that  he  owned 
then  and  there.  He  gave  all  his  property  to  his  other 
grandson  and  Cousin  Rollis  never  got  a  cent. 
Neither  did  my  poor  Malcolm,  for  that  matter,"  she 
added  regretfully.  "His  mother,  old  Mr.  Lannion's 
only  daughter,  married  against  her  father's  wishes. 
I  don't  like  to  speak  against  the  dead  but  I'm  afraid 
Mr.  Lucas,  Malcolm's  father,  did  run  through  a 
great  deal  of  the  old  man's  money — the  will  said  so, 
anyway.  Cousin  Rollis  has  made  plenty  of  money 
since — they  say  he  was  terribly  poor  for  a  time — 
and  he  is,  in  his  way,  kind  to  my  husband."  She 
sighed.  "I  wish  Malcolm  would  come  home.  He's 
in  France ;  Cousin  Rollis  sent  him  over  on  business. 
You  would  like  him,  I'm  sure." 

I  was  sure  that  I  would  not,  and  I  hoped  very 
much  that  he  might  remain  in  France  until  I  was 
away  from  Ornith  Farm.  The  fewer  people  in  the 
house  to  treat  me  as  a  lunatic  the  better. 

"If  Malcolm  were  here,"  Aileen  continued,  "he 
could  persuade  you  not  to  mew  yourself  up  so. 
Henrietta  tells  me  that  you  have  not  walked  ahout 
the  grounds  yet,  is  that  true  ?" 

130 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  nodded.  It  was  only  by  keeping  my  room,  and 
visiting  the  veranda  when  he  drove  out,  that  I  could 
avoid  Mr.  Lannion.  I  had  seen  little  of  him  since 
the  morning  that  I  had  twined  the  rope  of  morning- 
glories. 

"I  think  you  do  wrong,"  said  Aileen.  "It  would 
make  me  very  happy  if  you  would  go  to  see  my  poor, 
pretty  Ashtaroth.  She  did  not  mean  to  hurt  me, 
Aimee.  You  see  Malcolm  bought  her  because  of  her 
beauty,  and  sent  her  to  me  before  trying  her.  It's 
no  wonder  he  trusted  her;  she  has  such  sweet  eyes, 
poor  thing!  And  I  was  rash  and  foolish.  I  paid 
no  heed  to  what  Cooper  said.  She  ran  away,  and 
she  threw  me,  and — and  here  I  am." 

She  stopped  speaking,  her  big  blue  eyes  brimmed 
suddenly  with  tears.  She  turned  her  head  away, 
anxious,  as  always,  to  avoid  pity.  Wishing  to  help 
her,  to  pretend  that  I  was  not  suffering  with  her, 
I  rose,  and  going  to  one  of  the  western  windows, 
leaned  out. 

"Of  course  I  will  go  and  see  the  mare,"  I  said 
lightly,  when  able  to  speak  at  all.  But  I  remained 
where  I  was  that  my  eyes  might  have  a  chance  to 
dry. 

The  kitchen  of  the  house  was  in  the  basement  and 
at  the  same  corner  as  Aileen's  room.  Up  the  steps 
from  its  area  there  now  came  a  woman.  I  had  not 
seen  her  before,  but  I  knew  that  she  must  be  Solo- 
mon Jasper's  wife ;  Zayma,  the  cook.  She  was  hand- 
some, but  unpleasant  looking.  As  I  stared  down  at 
her  I  thought  of  Egypt,  of  the  Nile,  and  of  the 
pictures  of  its  temples  with  the  sculptured  faces 
of  the  Rameses  upon  their  walls.  Zayma's  face  was 
as  hard  as  if  carved  in  stone.  The  dark  skin — gray- 
black — might  have  been  drawn  over  granite;  but 
smoothly,  without  a  wrinkle.  I  saw  that  she  was 
watching  something,  for  she  paused  in  her  ascent 

131 


THE    PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

of  the  area  steps — then  advanced  slowly,  cautiously 
upward. 

The  object  of  her  interest  was  a  young  robin.  It 
hopped  awkwardly,  now  here,  now  there,  on  the 
smooth  grass,  in  an  aimless,  foolish  fashion.  Its 
parents,  nervously  viewing  Zayma's  approach,  ut- 
tered warning  cries  in  vain.  The  little  fluffy  bird 
either  did  not  understand  or  lacked  courage  to 
try  its  wings  in  flight.  At  the  same  moment  I  caught 
sight  of  a  large  black  cat,  with  breast  and  paws  of 
white,  coming  out  of  the  kitchen  door.  It  did  not 
follow  Zayma,  but  stood,  languidly  moving  its  snaky 
tail  from  side  to  side,  watching  her  movements  with 
intentness.  I  leaned  far  from  the  window.  I  scruti- 
nized it  carefully.  It  looked  like  a  very  old  cat  in- 
deed. I  was  glad.  It  could  not  catch  the  bird,  I 
thought. 

Then,  suddenly,  I  divined  what  Zayma  was  doing, 
for  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  little  robin 
that  seemed  fascinated  by  her  steady  gaze,  as  by  the 
eyes  of  a  black  snake.  I  was  about  to  cry  out,  to 
call  to  her  to  stop  her  wicked  work,  when  I  remem- 
bered Aileen.  She  was  in  such  fragile  health,  she 
must  not  be  alarmed.  As  I  paused  in  doubt  Mrs. 
Despard  entered.  At  that  instant  Zayma  pounced. 

I  did  not  wait  to  see  if  she  had  caught  the  bird, 
neither  did  I  stop  for  excuses.  I  flew  downstairs, 
opened  the  library  door  without  knocking,  and  ran 
in.  The  room  was  empty.  But  a  door  that  I  had 
not  before  noticed,  between  the  bookcases  on  the 
north  side  of  the  room,  stood  ajar.  I  pushed  it  open 
and  entered.  Opposite  me  were  two  large  windows 
admitting  the  north  light  that  artists  need,  and  be- 
fore one  of  these  windows  was  an  easel  holding  an 
unfinished  picture  upon  which  Mr.  Lannion  was 
even  then  at  work.  His  coat  was  off,  his  shirt  sleeves 
rolled  up;  he  was  very  much  absorbed.  Beside  the 

132 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

easel  lay  Malvina.  When  she  saw  me  she  rose  and 
advanced  a  few  steps,  dislike  in  her  pale,  pink-edged 
eyes.  Her  master  turned  to  see  who  had  invaded  his 
sanctum  thus  boldly,  and  as  he  turned  I  rushed  into 
speech. 

"Zayma  is  by  the  kitchen  door  catching  a  young 
robin  for  her  cat!"  I  cried.  "Go  quickly  and  stop 
her." 

He  laid  down  palette  and  brush  and  pushed  for- 
ward an  easy  chair.  His  inattention  to  my  words, 
his  slow  movements  tortured  me.  "Oh,  go  quickly," 
I  commanded,  stamping  my  foot,  "or  you  will  be 
too  late !" 

"Will  you  give  me  an  hour — if  ?"  he  demanded. 

I  understood.  I  must  pay  for  the  bird's  life. 
"Yes,"  I  sobbed,  "if  it's  saved."  And  I  took  the 
offered  chair. 

"On  guard,  Malvina!"  was  the  hasty  order  and, 
with  a  warning  glance  at  me,  he  left  the  room. 

Malvina  crouched  down  before  me,  her  eyes  upon 
my  face.  I  knew  that  in  her  secret  soul  she  hoped 
that  I  might  move.  Then  she  would  be  at  liberty 
to  bite  me,  and  she  would  bite  hard.  I  did  not  re- 
sent her  hatred.  Upon  our  first  meeting  Mr.  Lan- 
nion  had  spoken  to  her  crossly,  and  relegated  her  to 
the  hearth-rug.  Upon  our  second,  I  had  witnessed 
her  humiliation,  her  flight  from  Mr.  King.  It  was 
impossible  for  me  to  explain  to  the  creature  that  I 
was  as  anxious  to  be  away  from  Mr.  Lannion  as  she 
was  to  be  rid  of  me. 

"Poor  Malvina!"  I  said  pityingly.  "Poor,  poor 
dog."  Malvina  stirred  uneasily  and  licked  her 
lips. 

I  looked  away  from  her  to  the  unfinished  picture 
upon  the  easel.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  meadow  gay 
with  flowers;  autumnal  flowers.  Purple  asters  and 
waving  golden-rod.  A  graceful  girl — a  slender, 

133 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

white-robed  figure,  with  golden  hair — was  gathering 
a  tall  spear  of  yellow  blooms. 

"Proserpina,  gathering  flowers,"  I  remarked  po- 
litely to  Malvina.  Then  I  flushed  painfully,  for  in 
the  girl  of  the  painting  I  recognized  myself.  And 
for  the  first  time  a  suspicion  of  the  truth — of  the 
reason  for  my  being  a  prisoner  at  Ornith  Farm — 
flashed  through  my  mind. 

"I  got  there  in  time,"  cried  Mr.  Lannion  from  the 
end  of  the  library.  "I  returned  it  to  its  parents. 
They  may  live  to  regret  that  you  interfered,"  he 
added,  coming  into  the  smaller  room.  He  spoke 
with  unaccustomed  gayety,  and  looked,  as  he  smiled 
down  upon  me,  both  animated  and  happy. 

"There,  Malvina,"  he  pushed  the  dog  with  his  foot 
as  he  spoke,  "that  will  do.  Be  off  with  you!  Go 
to  your  rug  and  lie  down." 

"You  might  at  least  speak  civilly  to  her,"  I  said 
coldly.  "She  has  obeyed  you  to  the  letter — she  has 
not  moved  since  you  left  the  room — she  ought  to  be 
praised." 

He  smiled,  raising  his  eyebrows  as  if  in  good- 
humored  surprise  at  my  severity.  "Set  me  a  good 
example  then,"  he  said  lightly.  "Haven't  I  earned 
a  word  of  commendation  ?  Won't  you  say  something 
kind  to  me  ?" 

"I  should  like  to  go  for  a  walk,"  I  said.  I  looked 
down,  that  I  might  avoid  the  expression  in  his  eyes, 
an  expression  that  I  had  hitherto  failed  to  read 
aright.  "Will  you  take  me  to  see  your  garden,  Mr. 
Lannion?  And  your  horses,  too?"  For  answer  he 
began  to  put  on  his  coat.  He  was  greatly  pleased; 
excited  even.  "How  well  you  paint,"  I  continued, 
glancing  toward  the  picture.  "Is  it  Proserpina  ? 
Yes?  But  did  she  gather  golden-rod,  and  where  is 
Pluto?" 

"I  keep  him  in  the  background,"  was  the  answer. 
134 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Ugly,  middle-aged  men  are  out  of  place  in  pict- 
ures." 

"Yet  lie  is  coming,  all  the  same,"  I  murmured. 
Then  said  hastily,  fearing  his  reply,  "Did  you  tell 
Zayma  never  again  to  catch  birds  for  her  cat,  Mr. 
Lannion — or  mice?"  I  added.  "She  might  catch 
mice  in  live  traps,  and  give  them  to  him  to  play 
with.  Come,"  I  rose  quickly,  "let  us  go  at  once  and 
tell  her.  She  is  a  cruel-looking  woman." 

"Jasper  shall  tell  her,"  said  Mr.  Lannion.  "I  am 
tired  of  interviewing  Zayma.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

"Malvina  wishes  to  come,  too,"  I  said,  as  we  left 
the  room ;  "pray  let  her." 

"I  thought  you  did  not  like  her,"  was  the  sur- 
prised comment  as  he  whistled  the  dog  to  heel. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?"  I  asked,  surprised 
in  my  turn. 

"In  that  case  why  wish  to  give  her  pleasure  ?"  he 
demanded. 

"Somebody  might  better  be  happy,"  I  said,  indif- 
ferently. "I  hope  I  may  never  deprive  any  creature 
of  its  sunshine." 

"You  will  need  this  to  protect  you  from  too 
much,"  he  said  quickly,  picking  up  a  sun  umbrella 
as  we  passed  through  the  hall.  "The  sun  is  scorch- 
ing to-day.  We  must  not  let  it  burn  your  pretty 
fair  skin." 

I  pressed  my  lips  tightly  together.  I  had  been 
venturing  upon  very  thin  ice.  Let  me  stop  in  time. 
I  walked  quietly  by  his  side,  submitting  with  a  good 
grace  to  being  sheltered  by  the  big  umbrella.  As 
he  held  it  carefully  over  me  his  arm,  now  and  again, 
touched  my  shoulder.  I  did  not  shrink  away.  The 
new  suspicion  that  had  come  to  me  made  self-control 
doubly  difficult.  But  I  must  control  myself,  or  how 
might  I  hope  to  escape  ? 

135 


THE    PKISOKEK    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

The  garden  was,  fortunately,  not  far  distant.  We 
crossed  the  avenue,  followed  a  path  between  two 
short  stretches  of  turf,  and  stopped  before  a  small 
gate  in  a  picket  fence.  Behind  the  fence  grew  a  high, 
very  thick  hedge  of  privet,  and  above  the  hedge  one 
saw  the  tops  of  a  forest  of  fruit-trees.  It  was  an 
ugly  garden.  Long  and  narrow,  with  but  two  paths 
intersecting  it,  like  a  cross  laid  flat  upon  the  ground. 
Where  the  arms  of  the  cross  joined  the  body — the 
main  path — was  a  circle  of  grass,  and  in  its  centre 
the  basin  of  a  fountain.  Around  the  grass  circle  ran 
a  broad  gravelled  pathway;  at  its  farther  edge,  as 
along  the  edges  of  the  paths  leading  to  it,  were  more 
fruit-trees.  The  basin  was  full,  not  of  water,  but 
of  broken  bits  of  bricks  and  glass.  Under  the 
branches  of  the  trees  I  saw  beds  of  vegetables. 

"There  is  an  old  bench  at  the  end  of  this  path," 
said  Mr.  Lannion.  "Wait  and  I  will  bring  it.  You 
can  rest  here ;  it  is  such  a  pretty  spot." 

"Pretty !"  I  exclaimed.    "I  think  it  is  dismal." 

"Dismal!"  echoed  Mr.  Lannion,  "dismal!"  And 
he  stared  about  him,  evidently  wondering  what  I 
could  mean. 

"Yes,  dismal,"  I  repeated.  "A  choked  fountain; 
weedy  pear-trees;  stupid  vegetables;  few  flowers — 
and  an  odor  of  cabbages  and  mould." 

"Cabbages !"  he  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  eager  re- 
monstrance, "those  are  cauliflowers.  And  there  are 
nice  beds  of  strawberries,  and  whole  rows  of  rasp- 
berries. Don't  you  like  raspberries,  child  ?" 

"I  wish  that  this  fountain  were  playing,"  I  said 
pettishly.  "I  wonder  that  you  cared  to  invite  me  to 
walk  in  such  a  dreary  spiders'  den."  I  ignored  the 
fact  that  I  had  invited  myself  and  Mr.  Lannion  did 
not  venture  to  remind  me.  "If  the  fountain  were 
playing  in  the  sunshine,"  I  went  on,  "and  great 
vases  of  flowers  marked  the  entrance  to  the  paths; 

136 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

if  big-leafed  water-plants  grew  close,  close  around 
the  basin,  so  that  the  spray  kept  their  leaves  always 
wet  and  shining — why,  then,  Mr.  Lannion,"  I  turned 
and  smiled  up  at  him  suddenly,"  I  should  not  think 
it  strange  if  you  wished  me  to  sit  here  with  you, 
under  the  pear-trees'  shade." 

He  flushed  deeply,  and  stood,  without  speaking, 
staring  at  me  as  though  puzzled  by  my  manner  and 
words.  Then  he  left  me  abruptly,  and  going  to  the 
end  of  the  main  path  returned  with  the  bench  which 
he  placed  on  the  edge  of  the  gravelled  circle  in  the 
shadow.  I  surveyed  it  with  disfavor. 

"What  a  rickety  old  affair!"  I  exclaimed,  and 
added,  touching  the  gray-green  wood  with  a  finger 
tip,  "and  mouldy,  yes,  quite  green  with  mould!" 

Mr.  Lannion  took  off  his  coat  and  spread  it  on 
the  seat.  "Now  it  will  not  stain  your  pretty  white 
frock,"  he  said,  smiling.  "Sit  down  and  rest;  you 
must  be  tired." 

"My  first  walk,  yes,"  I  said,  "so,  of  course,  I 
should  rest.  I  will  tuck  up  my  feet,  if  you  do  not 
mind."  And  I  absorbed  the  whole  bench,  leaving  no 
place  for  my  companion. 

"That's  right,"  he  said  approvingly.  "The  path 
is  good  enough  for  Malvina  and  me — isn't  it,  Mally, 
you  old  goose  ?" 

Malvina,  blinking  disapprobation,  so  manifestly 
thought  it  all  wrong  that  Mr.  Lannion  laughed, 
thus  increasing  her  discomfort. 

"So  you  want  the  garden  beautified,  do  you  ?"  he 
said,  smiling  up  at  me.  "A  fountain  playing,  vases 
of  flowers — goldfish,  perhaps  ?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "No  fish,  please,  Mr.  Lan- 
nion." I  wanted  no  prisoners  for  pets. 

He  drew  out  a  note-book.  "I  will  write  down 
your  orders,"  he  said. 

"Not  my  orders."  I  spoke  indifferently.  "Say 
137 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

rather  my  suggestions.  I  consider  your  garden  un- 
inviting at  present,  that  is  all.  I  wonder  what  time 
it  is  ?  But  I  see  you  have  no  sundial  here.  A  gar- 
den without  a  sundial  always  seems  to  me  like  a 
person  without  a  mind." 

"Do  you  want  a  sundial  too?"  he  asked.  I 
thought  he  appeared  a  trifle  alarmed  by  my  growing 
desires. 

"Are  sundials  expensive  ?"  I  successfully  kept  my 
voice  expressionless. 

"I  imagine  so,"  was  the  answer ;  "but  never  mind, 
if  you  really  want  it."  He  looked  at  me  question- 
ingly.  I  avoided  his  glance. 

"I  have  no  watch,"  I  said,  staring  absently  at  a 
distant  vegetable  bed.  "I  need  a  watch  very  much, 
Mr.  Lannion.  It  does  seem  odd  that  I  should  have 
forgotten  how  much  money  Mrs.  Robert  Darling 
left,"  I  continued,  speaking  confidentially,  and  turn- 
ing from  the  vegetables  to  look  straight  at  my  com- 
panion. "I  have  not  the  remotest  idea  what  my  in- 
come is,  Mr.  Lannion.  Is  it  large — or  small  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  worry  about  that  now,"  he  said 
quickly,  looking  down  at  his  note-book.  "There  is 
enough  for  you  to  have  what  you  want,  I  guess." 

"I  want  a  watch,"  I  said.  "Not  an  old  watch  that 
has  been  in  the  Darling  family  for  years"  (I  had  no 
mind  for  pretended  heirlooms  purchased  at  a  pawn- 
broker's), "nor  one  that  may  have  been  bought  for 
Aimee  Darling  when  a  child.  No,  I  want  a  new 
watch." 

"What  kind  do  you  want — Aimee?"  he  asked 
quietly.  He  still  avoided  looking  at  me. 

"I  am  wearing  black,"  I  said,  "so  I  want  a  black 
watch." 

"You  shall  have  it,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  and  his 
tone  bespoke  relief. 

If  he  were  really  stingy — as  Delcie  had  hinted — 
138 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FARM 

he  probably  contemplated  the  purchase  of  a  cheap 
black  Swiss  watch.  I  hastened  to  undeceive  him  as 
to  my  meaning. 

"Yes,  a  black  watch/'  I  went  on,  "of  black  enamel. 
I  want  the  back  fairly  encrusted  with  diamonds — • 
or,  better  still,  a  circle  of  diamonds  near  the  edge, 
and  in  the  centre,  A.  D.,  in  diamonds.  That  is  the 
kind  of  watch  I  want,  please." 

"You  would  find  the  diamonds  very  scratchy," 
said  Mr.  Lannion;  "they  would  tear  your  belts  to 
pieces  in  no  time.  Better  have  one  with  a  smooth 
case  that  will  slip  in  and  out  easily." 

"I  am  glad  you  mentioned  belts,"  I  said  serenely, 
"for  I  need  a  buckle  very  much.  I  am  tired  of  rib- 
bon ends  and  sashes.  I  want  a  buckle,  so  that  I 
may  wear  a  belt.  It,  too,  had  better  be  of  black 
enamel,  and  studded  with  diamonds — well-sized  dia- 
monds— to  match  the  watch.  And  the  diamonds  in 
the  watch  will  not  wear  out  my  ribbons,  Mr.  Lan- 
nion, for  I  want  one  with  a  chatelaine  to  hang  from 
my  belt." 

Mr.  Lannion  sighed.  "I  am  surprised  that  you 
should  care  for  such  ornate  things,"  he  said.  "I 
fancied  your  tastes  were  simple." 

"Do  you  disapprove  of  diamonds  ?"  I  inquired. 

"Well"  he  said  slowly,  "I  own  it  seems  to  me  a 
pity  to  lock  up  much  money  in  mere  stones.  They 
don't  pay  interest,  you  know."  And  he  smiled,  but 
a  trifle  ruefully. 

"You  think  me  whimsical,  extravagant  ?"  I  asked. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  instead  began  absently  to 
trace  initials  on  the  gravel  with  his  pencil.  I  leaned 
forward.  The  letters  were  small,  but  my  eyes  were 
good.  I  read  them  easily — H.  C.  I  leaned  back. 
He  must  not  know  that  I  had  seen  them. 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  well  to  gratify  the 
whims — extravagant  or  otherwise — of  those  tempq- 

139 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

rarily  insane,"  I  remarked  quietly.  He  glanced  up 
at  me  quickly.  I  was  looking  at  the  choked  foun- 
tain. "I  should  think" — I  spoke  very  slowly — "that 
money  locked  up  with  the  locked  up  temporarily  in- 
same  might,  perhaps,  pay  interest — later  on.  But  of 
course  I  am  only  an  ignorant  girl,  Mr.  Lannion. 
Flashing  fountains  and  sparkling  diamonds  are  fool- 
ish fancies  after  all.  I  will  go  to  the  stables  now, 
please."  I  rose  from  my  bench  and  walked  away. 
He  followed  me  quickly.  "You  have  forgotten  your 
coat,"  I  said,  smiling,  "and  the  big  umbrella  to  shut 
away  my  sunshine.  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  as  he 
fetched  them,  "how  forgetful  you  are,  Mr.  Lannion ! 
You  don't  think,"  regarding  him  with  feigned  anxi- 
ety, "that  you  have  become — temporarily  insane  ?" 

"I  am  quite  mad,"  he  said  in  low  tones,  "and  con- 
tent to  remain  so." 

He  opened  the  gate  of  the  garden,  and  we  neither 
of  us  spoke  again  until  we  reached  the  stables. 


140 


XII 

The  stables  were  farther  from  the  house  than  the 
garden,  and  were  built  on  the  western  slope  of  the 
plateau.  A  shabby  group  of  buildings  enough,  I 
thought ;  and  as  though  divining  the  impression  they 
made,  Mr.  Lannion  half  apologized  for  them. 

"I  only  rent  the  place,"  he  said,  "so  I  haven't 
cared  to  put  any  money  on  them.  I  run  Ornith 
Farm  as  a  farm,  not  as  a  country-seat.  I  have  had 
it  two  years  and,  so  far,  I  have  made  it  pay.  What 
is  that  I  hear  ?"  We  were  entering  the  main  build- 
ing. "Is  Roddy  in  trouble  ?" 

We  stopped  in  the  doorway  to  listen.  On  our  left 
were  four  stalls,  each  occupied  by  a  powerfully  built 
carriage  horse.  At  the  back  a  narrow  staircase  led 
upward,  and  it  was  from  some  place  near  its  top  that 
the  sound  of  voices  came.  Roddy's  voice,  shrill  with 
anger,  and  the  soft  drawl  of  Cooper,  the  coachman, 
in  gentle  but  insistent  rebuke. 

"You  let  me  alone,  Dave  Cooper,"  piped  Roddy. 
"It's  none  of  your  business  what  I  do.  You're  a 
mean  old  hunks,  you  are,  spying  after  me  when 
you  ought  to  be  tendin'  to  your  work!  You  go 
clean " 

"There,  there,"  Cooper  interrupted;  "you've  got 
to  come  up,  so  where' s  the  use  fightin'  ?  If  your 
Uncle  Rollis  knowed  of  this — well,  you're  aware 
yourself,  Roddy,  what  would  happen." 

"And  you're  going  to  be  mean  enough  to  tell  ?" 
shrieked  Roddy.  From  his  jerky  tones  I  knew  him 
to  be  squirming  in  Cooper's  grasp.  "Go  tell  then — 
who  cares,  anyway!" 

141 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"I  ain't  agoin'  to  tell,"  said  the  abused  Cooper, 
"an'  you  know  it  well  enough,  Roddy.  My,  my, 
what  a  passion  you're  in,  sonny!  And  Ossie  real 
disappointed  that  he  ain't  had  the  chance  to  eat 
you  up." 

"Wait  here,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  and  he  ran  up 
the  staircase.  Only  half-way,  however;  he  paused 
where  he  could  command  a  view  of  both  Roddy  and 
me.  I  was  not  to  be  left  unguarded.  There  followed 
a  stillness,  a  stillness  with  something  unpleasant  in 
it.  Mr.  Lannion  spoke  again. 

"Rodgers,"  he  said,  and  although  he  spoke  quietly 
there  was  menace  in  his  voice,  "have  you  been  trying 
to  visit  the  dogs  again  ?" 

Another  silence.  Then  Roddy  answered,  and  I 
instantly  thought  what  a  little  creature  he  was  by 
the  side  of  his  interlocutor. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Rollis,"  he  said. 

"You  remember  what  I  told  you  I  would  do,  if  you 
disobeyed  me?"  Mr.  Lannion  asked. 

Again  he  spoke  without  apparent  anger,  yet  again 
his  voice  chilled  me  with  dread  for  the  child. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  poor  Roddy. 

"You  will  come  to  the  library  at  five  this  after- 
noon," commanded  Mr.  Lannion,  and  turned  to  de- 
scend the  stairs. 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  faint  answer  from  above. 

I  looked  out  of  the  doorway  pretending  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  view.  Presently  I  saw  a  man  hasten- 
ing toward  the  stables.  "Here  comes  your  familiar," 
I  said  over  my  shoulder  to  Mr.  Lannion,  as  he  joined 
me. 

"Jasper!"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  what  on  earth 
does  he  want?"  and  he  went  forward  to  meet  his 
factotum.  "I  shall  have  to  return  to  the  house,"  he 
explained,  when  Jasper  had  delivered  his  message. 
"Some  men  have  come  on  business."  (The  blood 

142 


surged  into  my  face  as  I  thought  of  rescue.)  "Old 
friends  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  crushing  my 
hopes — with  intention,  I  suspected,  "but  unwelcome 
at  this  moment,"  and  he  smiled  at  me.  "Jasper  shall 
stay  to  escort  you  back  to  the  house  when  you  have 
inspected  the  horses.  Don't  over-fatigue  yourself, 
Aimee !"  And  he  hurried  away. 

I  did  not  know  whether  to  follow  or  not.  Had 
he  told  the  truth  in  regard  to  the  visitors  ?  Cooper, 
descending  the  staircase  with  lagging  steps,  put  an 
end  to  my  doubts. 

"I  hope  them  men  from  town — the  same  party 
as  was  here  last  month,  ain't  they?"  He  looked  at 
Solomon  who  nodded.  "Well,  I  hope  as  they'll  dis- 
embarrass his  head  of  Roddy's  doin's.  You  think 
not?"  in  answer  to  an  expression  of  dissent  from 
Solomon.  "Well,  well,  then  I  guess  the  little  chap 
will  jest  have  to  grin  an'  bear  it.  I'm  awful  sorry 
for  the  child." 

"Where  is  he  now  ?"  I  asked. 

"Above,"  said  Cooper,  jerking  his  thumb  upward ; 
"hay-loft ;  it's  his  lair.  Yes-yes,"  he  went  on,  speak- 
ing meditatively,  "it's  his  reg'lar  lair.  He  goes 
there  to  enjoy  secret  treasures — green  apples  and 
such  like — and  to  hide  his  lamentin's.  An'  I  guess, 
when  all's  said  and  done,  we've  all  got  our  lairs. 
Yes,  sir,"  staring  steadily  at  me,  "yes,  sir,  we  have 
so.  For,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  we're  mighty 
like  the  dumb  beasts,  after  all.  We  don't  run  inter 
holes  to  die  'cause  circumstances  (meaning  rela- 
tions, friends,  or  poor-house  doctors)  forbids;  but 
we  turn  our  faces  to  the  wall,  doin'  our  best  to 
make  a  solitude  of  our  death-bed.  Yes-yes,  we  do. 
An'  I  calliate  we  ain't  so  different  from  the  poor 
beasts  as  the  ministers  pretend.  An'  often  we  ain't 
so  well  worth  prayin'  over,  neither;  no,  sir,  we 
ain't." 

143 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"What  did  Roddy  do  ?"  I  inquired.  I  was  anxious 
about  the  boy. 

"I'll  show  you  if  you  care  to  see,"  said  Cooper, 
and  led  the  way  upstairs. 

Solomon  Jasper,  leaving  the  door-post  against 
which  he  had  been  leaning  during  Cooper's  remarks, 
followed  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  where  he  remained, 
his  large  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  me. 

"Jest  look  out  of  here,"  continued  Cooper,  pointing 
to  an  open  window  near  the  top,  "an'  I'll  show  you 
what  that  little  chap  tried  to  do." 

I  looked  out.  Beneath  us,  built  against  the  lower 
story  of  the  stable,  was  an  enclosure  about  a  hundred 
yards  square.  The  fence  surrounding  it  was  very 
high,  the  close  boards  separating  into  pickets  at  the 
top.  In  the  enclosure  grew  a  Norway  spruce,  making 
a  clump  of  shade,  and  near  it  stood  two  kennels.  The 
grass  had  been  scratched  away  in  spots  and  looked 
mangy.  Because  of  this,  of  the  height  of  the  fence, 
and  the  appearance  of  the  two  dogs  that  squatted 
before  the  kennels,  the  place  seemed  to  me  like  a  den 
of  wild  beasts.  The  dogs  were  the  Great  Danes  whose 
deep-throated  baying  had  kept  me  awake  many  a 
night  since  my  coming  to  Ornith  Farm.  The  larger 
of  the  two  was  striped  black  and  yellow — like  a  tiger. 
The  other  was  dun,  almost  black. 

"Pretty  puppies,  ain't  they?"  said  Cooper  ad- 
miringly. "High,  Ossie !  High,  Hermie,  ol'  man !" 
The  dogs  moved  their  tails  languidly,  in  dull  response 
to  his  greeting.  "If  'twas  dinner-time  you'd  see  'em 
skip" — Cooper  spoke  apologetically — "but  the  heat, 
an'  bein'  up  all  night,  makes  'em  tired." 

"What  did  you  call  them  ?"  I  asked.  "I  did  not 
catch  their  names." 

"Their  names  is  awful  ugly,"  said  Cooper;  "an' 
though  Roddy  learned  me  how  to  pronounce  'em,  I 
shorten  'em  up  a  bit.  The  one  liked  a  striped  tiger- 

144 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   FARM 

cat  is  Osirus,  an'  t'other  is  Hermes  Tris — some- 
thing  " 

"Trismegistus  ?"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Cooper,  "that's  it.  Now  that  boy 
is  jest  set  on  playin'  with  them  pups — wants  to  tame 
'em,  he  says — and  Mr.  Lannion  wants  them  kep' 
fierce ;  says  he  won't  have  'em  mauled  by  wimmen  an' 
children.  Him  and  me  and  the  doctor  is  the  only 
ones  they  know.  Roddy  says" — I  saw  that  he  was 
both  fond  and  proud  of  the  boy — "he  says,  says  he, 
'Dave,'  he  says,  'how'd  you  like  it,  Dave,'  says  he, 
'ef  no  one  never  talked  pleasant  to  you  ?  How'd  you 
like,'  he  says,  'to  be  shut  up  all  day  in  this  hole,  an' 
fed  an'  treated  like  a  dangersome  lunatic  in  a  'sylum 
cell '  " 

Cooper  stopped  speaking  abruptly.  He  looked 
greatly  alarmed,  and  eyed  me  in  a  helpless  state  of 
embarrassment.  That  he  felt  he  had  stumbled  upon 
an  unfortunate  expression  was  almost  absurdly  ap- 
parent. Lunatics  must  not  be  mentioned  before  a 
person  temporarily  insane. 

"Does  Roddy  try  to  carry  out  his  plan  of  taming 
them  ?"  I  asked,  looking  down  at  the  dogs  and  trying 
to  help  the  man  out. 

"Yes,  sir — miss,  I  mean,"  stammered  Cooper,  still 
uncomfortable. 

"But  how  can  he  ?"  I  demanded.  "He  can't  pos- 
sibly get  in  here." 

"Yes,  sir,  he  can,"  burst  out  Cooper,  forgetting  me 
in  his  pride  in  the  boy's  cleverness.  "He's  the  cutest 
little  chap  alive!  First  he  tried  the  fence,  an'  Mr. 
Lannion  caught  him  jest  as  he'd  squeezed  through 
them  top  pickets  an'  was  ready  to  drop  in.  'Twas 
then  he  got  his  orders  to  keep  out.  But,  bless  you, 
when  Roddy's  set  in  his  mind,  it  takes  more'n  a 
threatened  lickin'  to  turn  him!  And  this  very 
morning" — Cooper  spoke  slowly  and  impressively — 

145 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FAEM 

"he  tried  again.  Yes,  sir,  he  did — with  a  rope;  yes- 
yes,  a  rope.  An'  I  happened  along  in  time  to  catch 
him  an'  haul  him  in — an'  he  did  some  lively  kickin', 
I  can  tell  you!  Ef  I'd  had  the  least  idea — "  He 
broke  off  abruptly.  He  had  not  glanced  toward 
Jasper,  but  I  fancied  he  had  suddenly  remembered 
the  presence  of  his  master's  confidential  man.  "But 
you  come  out,  I  calliate,  to  see  the  horses,"  he  re- 
commenced carelessly,  "an7  not  to  listen  to  me  hold 
forth.  Ef  you'll  step  downstairs  I'll  trot  'em  out  for 
you." 

"I  will  see  Ashtaroth  first,  if  I  may,"  I  said. 

"Ashtie  ?  Oh,  yes,  ef  you  want,"  and  he  led  the 
way  through  a  side  door  to  a  well-sized  box  stall. 

I  looked  long  at  Ashtaroth,  and  I  did  not  wonder 
at  Aileen's  affection  for  her. 

"Four  white  feet,  yes,  sir,"  said  Cooper,  "but  they 
don't  make  a  mite  of  difference,  to  my  thinking. 
(Mrs.  Lucas,  poor  lady,  is  awful  proud  of  that  white 
half -moon  of  her'n.)  And  some  hold  that  black 
horses  ain't  as  good  as,  well,  we'll  say  chestnut  or  bay. 
I  used  to  b'lieve  that  you  couldn't  do  better'n  buy 
a  sorrel — as  we  called  'em  down  the  Island.  Mr. 
Lannion  he  sticks  to  it  that  color  doesn't  matter  a 
mite.  He's  got  a  kind  of  leanin'  torge  black  horses, 
he  has.  Not  that  he  bought  this  mare.  No,  sir ;  'twas 
Mr.  Lucas  as  done  that — an'  a  poor  day's  work  it 
was  for  his  wife.  But  there,  she  didn't  know  no 
more  'bout  horses  than  a  kitten !  Ride  the  mare  she 
would,  to  s'prise  her  husband  when  he  got  home. 
Well,  well,  she  did  s'prise  him,  sure  enough."  He 
sighed.  "You  wouldn't  have  hurt  her  a  purpose, 
would  you,  Ashtie,  ol'  girl  ?"  The  mare  turned  her 
beautiful  head  and  looked  at  him  with  affection. 
"She  knows  me,"  he  said  proudly,  "and  she  likes  me, 
too.  I'm  the  only  man  here  that  can  handle  her. 
The  reason  she  don't  come  right  up  to  me  is  because 

146 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

of  you.  She  don't  take  to  strangers.  She's  a  Arab, 
Ashtie  is,"  he  continued,  becoming  every  moment 
more  expansive  in  his  praise  of  his  favorite,  "and 
she's  got  all  the  best  points  of  her  breed.  Look  at 
her  head.  Light  an'  elegant,  ain't  it  ?  An'  the  shape 
of  them  shoulders — obblique,  like  they'd  oughter  be. 
Look  at  her  deep  chest,  high  withers,  an'  them  fore- 
legs, set  so  well  for'ard.  The  truth  is,"  he  lowered 
his  voice  and  spoke  with  plaintive  seriousness,  "she's 
got  all  the  points  she  oughter  have,  yet  she's  no  good 
to  nobody.  She  was  ruined  when  she  was  broke." 
He  looked  at  me  sadly  for  a  moment,  then  said 
gravely :  "And  that's  why  I  take  on  so  over  the  boy." 
He  jerked  his  thumb  upward,  indicating  Rodgers' 
hiding-place.  "Mr.  Lannion  don't  know  it,  but  he's 
breakin'  him  all  wrong.  Mr.  Lannion's  idea  is: 
Lick  'em  seldom,  but  when  you  do  lick  'em,  lick  'em 
inter  welts.  Yes,  sir,"  as  I  contemplated  him  in 
horror,  "yes,  sir,  that's  Mr.  Lannion's  idea — and,  in 
regard  to  Roddy,  it's  wrong.  I  know  Roddy,"  he 
went  on  slowly,  glancing  quickly  over  his  shoulder 
to  make  sure  that  Solomon  was  out  of  ear-shot,  "and 
I've  seen  the  welts." 

"Why  doesn't  his  father  interfere  ?"  I  asked,  lower- 
ing my  voice,  too,  because  of  Jasper. 

"The  doctor  says,"  said  Cooper  with  quiet  disap- 
proval, "he  says,  says  he,  'I  was  ruined  by  gettin' 
too  few  beatings.  The  more  beatings  the  boy  gets/ 
he  says,  'why,  the  better  for  the  boy/  says  he.  Mrs. 
Despard  she  takes  on  over  it  at  times,  but" — with 
slow  contempt — "she,  well,  p'raps  she  was  broke 
wrong,  too.  There's  a  time  to  keep  your  heels  quiet, 
and  there's  a  time  to  up  with  'em  an'  lash  out  hard. 
Mrs.  Despard  she  kicks  at  the  wrong  time.  She  don't 
never  succeed  in  anythin',  she  don't."  He  stared 
sadly  at  the  mare.  "She's  as  pretty  as  a  picter,  ain't 
she  ?"  he  said  in  fond  admiration,  returning  to  a  more 

147 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

pleasing  topic.  "See  how  wide  she  is  between  the 
eyes — an'  such  eyes!  I  call  'em  beautiful;  as  soft 
and  as  gentle  as  a  deer's !  I  tell  you  what,  they  can 
flash  fire !"  He  chuckled,  as  if  in  fond  remembrance 
of  some  past  scene.  "She's  just  fifteen  hands,  one 
inch,"  he  added ;  "a  perfect  height  for  a  lady's  saddle- 
horse.  Yet  she'll  never  be  used  again." 

He  became  silent,  lost  in  reflection.  As  I  looked 
at  him,  it  occurred  to  me  how  like  a  horse  he  was — 
but  not  an  Arabian.  No,  with  his  melancholy  faded 
brown  eyes,  his  long,  thin  face,  and  long,  yellow 
teeth,  he  resembled  a  patient  farm  horse.  Such  an 
one  as  is  often  to  be  seen  gazing  with  gentle  gravity 
over  the  old  gray  fence  of  some  home  field. 

"She  is  Dexter's  height,"  I  said  musingly,  as  I 
turned  again  to  the  mare.  "  'A  big-little  one' — as 
they  say." 

Cooper  stared  at  me  for  a  long  moment.  When 
he  next  spoke  his  manner  was  still  more  confidential. 

"The  first  time  I  went  inter  this  stall,"  he  said 
solemnly,  "I  thought  I'd  never  get  out  alive.  A  bad 
broke  ordinary  horse  is  wicked  enough,  but  a  bad 
broke  Arab  is  ferocious.  They  resent  ill-treatment 
like  no  other  horse  does.  I  calliate  it's  because  all 
their  forbears  was  treated  kind.  Well,  sir,  when  I 
entered  inter  this  stall,  Ashtie  she  flattened  them 
delicate,  small,  thin  ears  of  hers  tight  down  to  her 
head,  and  she  lay  in  wait  for  me.  I  walked  right 
up  to  her — 'taint  no  good  to  stand  away  off  from  a 
horse  an'  holler!  When  I  got  near  she  gave  one 
squeal,  an'  baring  her  teeth  jest  grabbed  my  coat  and 
shook  me  like  I  was  a  rat.  How  I  got  free  I  don't 
know,  but  the  minute  I  did,  though  I  was  awful  dizzy, 
I  hauled  off  what  remained  of  that  coat  an'  giv'  it 
her.  'Eat  it  up,'  I  says,  'ef  you  want,'  says  I,  'an'  all 
my  clothes,'  I  says,  'but  out  of  this  stall  I  ain't  goin' 
till  we're  friends !' ' 

148 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

"Yes,"  I  said  eagerly,  "yes.     And  then?" 
"You  see,"  drawled  Cooper,  "I'd  locked  the  stable 
door  'fore  I  started  in.    I  wanted  to  do  it — an'  to  do 
it  alone." 

"Yes,"  I  urged,  "yes;  and  how  did  it  end ?" 
Cooper  wagged  his  head  at  the  mare  in  fond  re- 
buke. "You  behaved  awful  bad,  Ashtie,  didn't  you  ? 
(She  knows  I'm  talkin'  about  her,"  as  the  mare 
drooped  her  proud  crest,  "and  she's  sorry  to  this  day. ) 
For  you  see" — he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  mere  whisper 
lest  the  mare's  feelings  be  hurt — "she  worried  all  the 
clothes  off  me  afore  she  was  done — and  that  stopped 
her.  For  she  ain't  a  cannibal,  Ashtie  ain't,  an'  she's 
thoroughbred  through  and  through.  And  you  mustn't 
think  as  she  carried  on  like  that  afore  Mrs.  Lucas  rode 
her.  No,  'twas  after  the  accident;  the  night  of  that 
same  day.  She  came  on  a  Wednesday  evenin',  Ashtie 
did.  I  got  a  wire  from  Mr.  Lucas  to  meet  her  at 
the  station.  Mr.  Lannion  he  was  away.  The  mare 
was  awful  nervous  all  the  way  home ;  snapped  at  me 
kinder  fierce  when  I  fixed  her  for  the  night — seemed 
to  expect  to  be  hit  or  somethin'.  An'  when,  the  nex' 
morning,  word  come  for  her  to  be  saddled  for  Mrs. 
Lucas,  I  advised  strong  against  it,  I  did.  'Giv'  her 
time  to  look  'round/  I  says,  says  I.  'She's  strange 
yet,'  I  says,  'jest  giv*  her  time.' '  He  opened  the 
stall  door,  swept  the  sheet  off  the  mare,  and  stood 
back.  "Look  at  her,"  he  said,  "an'  judge  ef  any  lady 
would  have  b'lieved  she  wasn't  a  lamb !" 

Ashtaroth  rested  her  dainty  nose  against  the  man's 
shoulder  fondly,  while  he  stroked  her  glossy  black 
side  with  melancholy  pride. 

"She  was  unwillin'  for  me  to  saddle  her,"  he  said, 
after  he  had  carefully  replaced  the  sheet  and  rejoined 
me  outside  the  door,  "swellin'  herself  out  till  I 
thought  I'd  never  get  the  girths  buckled  as  taut  as 
they'd  oughter  be.  Ef  Mrs.  Lucas  hadn't  been  un- 

149 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

common  spry  I  calliate  she'd  had  a  hard  time 
mountin'.  What  happened  after  I  don't  jest  rightly 
know,  but  I'm  of  opinion" — he  lowered  his  voice 
again — "that  Ashtie  must  have  shied  an'  scared 
Mrs.  Lucas,  who,  bein'  no  horsewoman,  poor  lady, 
lost  her  nerve  an'  struck  the  mare  sharp  an'  sudden." 
He  paused,  shook  his  head  sadly,  then  said:  "Mrs. 
Lucas  behaved  grand  after,  I'll  say  that  for  her! 
Wouldn't  hear  of  poor  Ashtie  bein'  shot  (which  was 
what  Mr.  Lucas  was  all  for  doin')  or  sold — as  Mr. 
Lannion  said  must  be  done.  No,  sir;  Mrs.  Lucas 
says,  says  she,  'The  mare's  too  dangerous  to  be  rode 
by  any  one,'  she  says,  'but  she's  too  beautiful  to  be 
killed,'  says  she.  An'  she  got  Mr.  Lannion's  solemn 
promise  to  let  her  be.  He  grumbles  some  over  her 
eatin'  her  head  off  an'  no  profit — but  he  let's  her  be. 
And  to  tell  the  real  truth  Ashtie  hadn't  oughter  be 
ridden  by  no  lady,  for  when  one  of  her  wild  fits  is 
on  her,  she  ain't  fit  to  be  trusted,  Ashtie  ain't.  And 
I'd  like  to  meet  the  feller  what  broke  her,"  Cooper 
wound  up  with  sudden  fierceness.  "I'd  break  him, 
I  would!" 

"After  twelve  o'clock,"  said  Solomon  laconically. 
He  had  come  up  behind  us  unheard.  "Your  dinner- 
time, Dave." 

"So  'tis,  sure  enough,"  said  Cooper,  startled.  "I 
hope  I  haven't  talked  too  much  about  the  mare." 

I  thanked  him.  He  had  interested  me  greatly, 
and  I  said  so.  Then,  Solomon  following  at  a  respect- 
ful distance,  I  returned  to  the  house.  I  walked  very 
slowly.  Cooper  had  not  appealed  to  me  directly  on 
Roddy's  behalf,  yet  I  knew  that  he  hoped  I  might 
help  the  boy.  I  thought  and  thought.  At  Ornith 
Farm  much  thinking,  I  found,  was  needed.  And 
one  grew  very  much  older  with  every  day. 


150 


xin 

As  I  neared  the  house  I  saw  that  the  carriage  that 
had  brought  Mr.  Lannion's  friends  was  still  before 
the  door.  What  if  Cooper  had  been  mistaken — what 
if — ?  I  started  on  a  run.  Solomon  was  beside  me 
instantly,  his  hand  upon  my  arm.  I  was  about  to 
risk  everything  by  crying  for  help  (everything,  since 
were  these  visitors  not  here  on  my  account  I  should 
lose  what  I  had  already  gained  by  my  self-control), 
when  Mr.  King  stepped  out  from  a  side  path.  He 
looked  from  me  to  Solomon  and  back  again. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked  pleasantly.  "A  race  on? 
Mustn't  try  running  yet,"  he  added,  shaking  his 
head  good-naturedly;  "you  forget  you've  been  ill." 

"Yes/'  I  said,  trying  to  smile,  "I  did  forget.  But 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  Mr.  Lannion  about  poor  little 
Rodgers,  so  I  ran.  Is  he  still  busy  with  his 
friends  ?"  I  spoke  breathlessly.  The  effort  and  the 
lie  tried  my  nerves  sorely. 

"He  is,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  "and  will  be  till 
dinner-time.  But  what's  the  matter  with  the  boy? 
Hasn't  hurt  himself,  has  he  ?" 

Solomon  had  withdrawn  to  a  respectful  distance. 
I  felt  I  might  venture  to  ask  what  I  must  know. 
"Are  they  old  friends  of  Mr.  Lannion?"  I  looked 
toward  the  carriage. 

"No  friends  at  all,"  was  the  answer.  "Business 
acquaintances.  What  is  the  matter  with  the  little 
chap?" 

"Do  they  come  here  often?"  I  persisted.  "Have 
you  ever  seen  them  before  ?" 

Mr.  King  glanced  at  me  quickly,  then  looked  down 
151 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

as  though  unwilling  I  should  see  that  he  had  noticed 
my  poorly  concealed  distress. 

"I've  seen  them  lots  of  times,"  he  said  in  his  most 
commonplace  manner.  "They  were  here  often  last 
winter.  I  know  them  well.  Let's  go  'round  to  the 
piazza.  It's  pleasanter  there."  I  went  with  him 
in  silence.  I  could  not  speak. 

"It's  a  pity  the  piazza  don't  run  all  'round  the 
house,  Miss  Darling.  I  don't  see  the  sense  of  having 
it  just  across  the  front.  But  it's  a  queer  house, 
anyway,  with  its  back  door  for  its  front  door,  and 
I  guess  an  Irishman  must  have  built  it. 

Mr.  King  kept  up  this  good-natured  chatter  until 
he  had  safely  ensconced  me  in  the  most  comfortable 
of  the  veranda  chairs,  when  he  sank  down  in  the  one 
next  me  and  calling  to  Solomon  to  bring  me  some 
refreshment,  "and  be  quick  about  it,"  relapsed  into 
silence.  But  I  refused  the  wine  brought  me  and, 
after  a  few  moments'  struggle  with  a  desire  to  break 
down  and  cry,  I  answered  Mr.  King's  forgotten  ques- 
tion about  the  boy.  He  listened  with  the  deepest 
interest,  and  when  I  had  finished  my  story  groaned 
heavily. 

"Then  Mr.  Lannion  does  whip  him  cruelly?"  I 
inquired.  I  had  hoped  that  Cooper  might  be  exag- 
gerating. 

"Cruelly?"  echoed  Mr.  King,  taking  off  his  hat 
and  staring  up  at  the  ceiling  as  though  addressing 
it.  "Cruelly?"  His  tone  was  smoothly  ironic. 
"Oh,  dear  no,  not  at  all.  The  weak  hand  of  the 
gentle  Rollis  at  one  end  of  a  good  flexible  raw-hide, 
and  the  uncoated  shoulders  of  the  brawny  Rodgers- 
with-a-d — ,  at  the  other.  Oh,  no,  not  at  all  cruelly, 
dear  no !  But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  lowering  his 
eyes  from  the  ceiling  and  speaking  with  great  se- 
riousness, "Lannion's  making  a  big  mistake.  You 
can't  rule  Roddy  through  fear.  Lannion  doesn't 

152 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

whip  the  boy  often,  and  I  honestly  believe  that  he 
does  it  for  Roddy's  good,  but  he  does  it  too  hard. 
The  little  chap  won't  be  able  to  forget — or  forgive — 
for,  well,  never  mind  how  long.  I'm  sorry  I  told 
you,  Miss  Darling.  I  deserve  to  be  licked  myself." 
He  looked  at  me  anxiously.  "Perhaps  you'll  go  for 
a  little  walk  with  me  this  afternoon — say  at  five 
o'clock  ?  You've  never  been  as  far  as  the  woods  yet, 
have  you  ?  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  take 
you  there." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go — if  Roddy  can  go  too." 
Mr.  King  looked  much  distressed  at  his  failure  to 
change  the  trend  of  my  thoughts.  "The  child  seems 
old  of  his  age." 

"He  is,"  said  poor  Mr.  King  gloomily.  "His 
mother  says  he's  nine,  but  that's  only  to  make  her- 

*/  t/ 

self  out  young.  He's  really  ninety."  I  smiled. 
"You  may  smile,"  said  my  odd  companion,  wagging 
his  shining  bald  head,  "but  it's  true.  I'll  bet  you 
anything  you  like  that  that  boy  will  come  in  to  lunch 
as  calmly  as  if  no  thrashing  hung  over  him.  And 
when  he's  asked  why  his  eyes  are  so  red  he'll  say 
that  he  fell  down  and  hurt  himself — or  that  he  was 
in  the  kitchen  fooling  with  the  pepper-pot  and  upset 
it  into  them.  He's  the  grittiest  little  devil  I  ever 
saw — begging  you  pardon.  He  says" — Mr.  King 
chuckled  admiringly — "that  young  shaver  says,  that 
only  cowards  howl  over  what  can't  be  helped.  He 
says  that  whatever  he  can't  down,  he  means  to  grin 
and  bear,  because  he's  an  American.  He  has  like- 
wise informed  me  that  if  you're  an  American  you've 
got  to  be  brave,  because  it's  in  your  blood.  He  also 
remarked  once,  in  strict  confidence,  that  of  course 
the  British  were  a  plucky  lot  because  they  were 
really  all  Americans.  They  had  just  happened  not 
to  have  come  over  with  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  that 
was  all.  Here  comes  Despard,"  he  whispered  hur- 

153 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

riedly,  as  Dr.  Despard  appeared,  walking  slowly 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  "and  you  may  as 
well  spare  yourself  the  discomfort  of  asking  him  to 
interfere,  for  he  won't." 

"I  suppose  he  feels  he  ought  not,"  I  said,  "be- 
cause Mr.  Lannion  supports  him  and  his  family." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  was  the  sharp  reply.     "He 
earns  his  keep — like  the  rest  of  us.    Hello,  Dotty"- 
he  rose  and  went  to  meet  Dr.  Despard — wie  geht's  ?" 

The  doctor  smiled  pleasantly  but  did  not  speak. 
He  mounted  the  veranda  steps  wearily  and  coming 
to  my  side  sank  into  Mr.  King's  chair. 

"Get  another,  Tommy,  will  you,"  his  voice 
sounded  very  weak,  "and  ask  Jasper  to  bring  me  a 
glass  of  milk." 

"No  you  don't,"  said  Mr.  King,  with  a  briskness 
that  I  knew  to  be  assumed.  "Nary  drop  of  milk  will 
I  get  you,  Lulie.  It's  not  lunch-time.  Sherry  and 
bitters  is  what  you  want,  old  man."  He  vanished 
into  the  house,  reappearing  almost  immediately.  "I 
snatched  the  brimming  goblet  from  under  the  nose 
of  the  lovely  Solomon  J.,  just  as  he  was  bearing  it, 
with  others  of  its  kind,  upstairs  to  the  den  of  milor. 
You  just  come  from  there,  Lu?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor  briefly.  He  sipped  the 
mixture  in  silence,  then,  looking  at  me,  asked,  very 
kindly,  how  I  was.  "Your  walk  did  not  tire  you, 
Miss  Darling?" 

"No,"  I  said  gently,  "not  at  all.  My  body  is  quite 
well  and  strong  again,  Dr.  Despard.  As  to  my 
mind,"  I  smiled  a  little,  "I  must  distress  you  by 
acknowledging  that  my  mind  clings  tenaciously  to 
its  delusions.  I  imagine  myself  Hope  Carmichael, 
still." 

"That  will  pass,  that  will  pass,"  was  the  doctor's 
quick  assurance.  But  as  he  spoke  he  turned  his  eyes 
from  me  and  scanned  the  lovely  prospect  of  meadows, 

154 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

woodland,  and  the  distant,  dreamy  blue  waters  of 
the  Sound,  as  though  he  saw  something  that  inter- 
ested him  greatly.  "I  declare,"  he  exclaimed,  with 
what  I  suspected  was  an  affected  animation,  "I  do 
believe  I  see  a  hawk!  Yes — no — yes,  I  am  sure. 
You  look,  Tom,  your  eyes  are  better  than  mine." 

Mr.  King  rose  and  stared  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  by  the  doctor. 

"I  don't  see  any  hawk,"  he  said  with  deliberation, 
"although  I  guess  you're  right  about  my  eyes  being 
better  than  yours.  You've  read  too  many  abstruse 
medical  books,  Lulie,  my  man;  you've  injured  your 
clearness  of  vision."  He  spoke  dully,  as  though  he 
were  very  tired,  and  only  talked  for  civility's  sake. 
And  turning  from  his  search  for  the  imaginary  hawk, 
he  stood  gazing  absently  down  at  the  doctor,  his  hat 
well  over  his  eyes.  "It's  time  you  went  in  and 
spruced  up  for  lunch,  Dr.  Luther  Despard,"  he  said, 
stifling  a  huge  yawn.  "Later,  you'll  have  to  spruce 
up  for  dinner,  and  by  and  by  you'll  have  to  make  a 
toilet  for — for  the  night.  Do  you  ever  have  ^the 
nightmare,  Dotty  dear?" 

"You're  right,"  said  the  doctor,  rising  with  an 
effort.  "I  was  on  my  way  upstairs  again,  but  I 
couldn't  resist  a  little  chat  with  Miss  Darling  and 
you,  Tommy."  And  he  went  into  the  house. 

Mr.  King  watched  him  out  of  sight,  then  turned 
his  eyes  upon  the  distant  landscape. 

"I  always  think  of  my  grandmother  on  noons  like 
this,"  he  drawled  softly.  "She  was  a  very  good 
woman.  She  read  the  Bible  a  lot.  Sometimes  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  can  hear  her  voice  reading  bits 
of  it  aloud." 

He  squared  his  shoulders,  took  off  his  hat,  and, 
his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  distant  glory  of  the 
Sound,  repeated  in  low,  reverent  tones: 

"As  the  bird  by  wandering,  as  the  swallow  by  fly- 
155 


. 

THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

ing,  so  the  curse  causeless"  he  paused,  "shall  not 
come." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  absorbed,  apparently, 
in  very  painful  thoughts.  Then,  motioning  slightly 
toward  the  splendid  view  spread  wide  before  us,  he 
said  quietly:  "This  is  God's  world,  child,  and  what 
I  have  just  repeated  is  one  of  God's  truths." 

As  he  ceased  speaking  Solomon  came  out,  carry- 
ing a  tray.  "Your  luncheon,"  said  my  strange  com- 
panion gravely.  "Gesegnete  Mahlzeit!"  and  he  went 
away. 

Solomon  wheeled  a  table  to  my  side  and  setting 
the  tray  upon  it  withdrew  to  the  doorway,  where 
he  could  command  a  view  of  me  and  of  the  hall. 
I  was  very  hungry,  but  I  had  determined  to  go  with- 
out my  luncheon.  So  I  did  not  look  at  the  tempt- 
ing food,  but  turning  from  it  soon  forgot  my  appe- 
tite in  anxious  thoughts,  for  I  could  not  understand 
why  my  imprisonment  at  Ornith  Farm  lasted  so 
long.  I  knew — from  Mr.  Lannion's  own  lips — that 
the  story  of  my  shipwreck  had  found  its  way  into 
the  newspapers.  And  even  supposing  that  my  own 
people  believed  me  to  have  been  drowned,  why  had 
not  Loison  and  the  crew  of  the  schooner  spoken? 
Their  poor  knowledge  of  English  did  not  account  for 
this  silence.  So  romantic  an  accident,  the  drowning 
of  a  young  girl  on  the  night  of  her  bethrothal,  would 
travel  far  by  word  of  mouth  alone.  Why,  I  asked 
myself  over  and  over  again,  did  not  Loison  and  the 
sailors  who  knew  of  my  whereabouts,  hasten  to  tell 
of  their  knowledge?  By  this  time  they  must  have 
heard  that  such  news  would  gain  them  a  large  reward. 

The  sound  of  a  carriage  rolling  rapidly  down  the 
avenue  roused  me  from  my  self-absorption.  Mr. 
Lannion's  friends  were  already  departing.  In  an- 
other moment  Mr.  Lannion  himself  came  out  upon 
the  veranda. 

156 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FAKM 

"What  is  this  ?"  he  asked,  glancing  from  the  tray 
to  me.  "Doesn't  your  luncheon  please  you — or  was 
the  walk  too  fatiguing?" 

"The  food  looks  delicious,"  I  said,  "and  the  walk 
did  me  good.  Your  friends  left  earlier  than  you 
expected,  Mr.  Lannion." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  dropping  into  the  chair  so  lately 
occupied  by  Dr.  Despard,  and  sighing  as  if  very 
glad  to  rest,  "yes,  I  thought  I  was  in  for  a  day  of 
it;  but  they  were  in  a  hurry,  thank  Heaven!  Why 
don't  you  eat  your  luncheon,  child  ?"  He  smiled  at 
me  as  he  spoke,  stretching  out  his  long  legs,  and 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  in  a  very  luxury  of  happy 
repose. 

"Uncle  Rollis,"  came  a  faint  childish  voice  from 
the  doorway,  "mother  wants  to  know  why  you  don't 
come  in  to  lunch.  I  am  to  say  that  we  are  waiting 
for  you." 

The  child  looked  very  little;  very  little,  and  very 
forlorn.  His  thin,  freckled  face  was  streaked  and 
blotched,  the  scrubbing  to  which  it  had  evidently 
been  subjected  having  failed  to  remove  the  traces 
of  his  tears.  He  did  not  look  at  Mr.  Lannion  but 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  distance.  And  I  knew  that 
it  was  not  fear  that  made  him  do  this  but  the  desire 
to  avoid  the  sight  of  a  detested  face.  Mr.  Lannion 
was  making  the  boy  hate  him. 

"Tell  your  mother  not  to  wait,"  he  now  said  care- 
lessly. "I  shan't  be  in  for  a  half-hour  yet." 

He  either  did  not  observe  or  was  not  touched  by 
the  child's  miserable  appearance.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  any  one  with  half  a  heart  would  have  seen  that 
Roddy  had  already  been  sufficiently  punished,  and 
would  have  forgiven  him  then  and  there.  But  the 
forlorn  little  figure  was  allowed  to  reenter  the  house 
without  a  kind  word. 

"You  are  not  thinking  of  letting  him  off?"  I  in- 
157 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FAKM 

quired.  I  wondered  if  I  could  bring  myself  to  beg 
for  the  boy's  pardon.  I  secretly  feared  I  could  not. 

"Who,  Roddy  ?"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  looking  at  me 
with  lazy  content.  "No,  indeed.  Boys  need  a  flog- 
ging now  and  then.  It  does  them  good." 

He  was  so  evidently  very  happy,  so  noticeably  en- 
joying being  with  me,  so  luxuriously  at  peace  with 
himself  and  his  world,  that  I  was  shaken  by  a  sud- 
den fury  of  indignation.  I  pressed  my  lips  together 
tightly  that  I  might  not  betray  myself  in  speech,  I 
closed  my  eyes  that  I  might  not  see  his  face. 

"Jasper,"  he  cried  to  his  henchman,  "lower  the 
awnings !  Shall  I  turn  your  chair  around,  Aimee  ?" 
He  spoke  with  tender  concern.  "Or  will  the  awn- 
ings be  sufficient  ?  The  glare  is  intense." 

I  opened  my  eyes  perforce  and  said  that  the  awn- 
ings were  sufficient.  I  obliged  myself  to  thank  him, 
as  well. 

"What  about  your  luncheon?  I  was  forgetting 
it,"  he  said  presently.  "It  must  be  as  cold  as  a  stone. 
Suppose  I  send  for  some  hot  chicken — a  double  al- 
lowance— and  lunch  with  you !  May  I — please  ?" 

He  spoke  pleadingly,  humbly  even.  I  rose 
briskly,  and  before  he  suspected  my  intention  had 
pushed  the  little  table,  with  its  tray,  to  his  side. 

"This  is  not  chicken,"  I  said  lightly,  "but  squab, 
on  toast.  It  looks  delicious.  And  peas,"  I  contin- 
ued, "young,  sweet,  excellent!  To  say  nothing  of 
creamed  potatoes,  a  roll,  a  pat  of  fresh  butter,  and 
a  glass  of  orange  wine.  Wine  that  holds  the  per- 
fume of  the  orange  blossoms,  Mr.  Lannion;  and 
you  shall  drink  it." 

He  looked  up  at  me  strangely.  He  was  intoxi- 
cated— without  wine.  "You  will  share  with  me?" 
he  said. 

I  shook  my  head.  "No,"  I  said  earnestly,  "you 
are  to  have  it  all;  squab,  peas,  potatoes,  roll,  butter, 

158 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

wine — everything  T  It  will  not  be  a  bit  too  much, 
for  you  look  as  hungry  as — "  I  paused,  seeking  a 
simile.  I  looked  well  at  the  man  lounging  in  the 
big  easy  chair  before  me.  Looked  at  his  powerful 
figure,  his  rough  brown  hair,  his  long  nose,  his 
rather  small  gray  eyes — with  their  greenish  glint. 
As  I  scrutinized  him  his  smile  deepened.  I  saw  the 
glint  of  his  strong  teeth  under  the  heavy  brown  mus- 
tache. 

"As  hungry  as  what?"  he  asked.  He  appeared 
well  pleased  to  have  me  so  much  interested.  "As 
hungry  as  forty  bears  ?  That  is  what  Roddy  would 
say." 

But  I — I  thought  suddenly  of  Loison.  "As  hun- 
gry— as  a  wolf,"  I  said  slowly,  and  almost  beneath 
my  breath. 

He  laughed.  "I'm  not  wolfish  enough  to  gobble 
up  your  'little  pat  of  butter  and  slender  flask  of 
wine/  little  Red  Riding  Hood,"  he  said  good- 
humoredly,  "but  if  you  don't  object  I'll  tell  Jasper 
to  bring  me  something  here.  I  am  very  hungry." 

"You  want  more  than  this  ?"  I  inquired  incredu- 
lously. I  glanced  at  the  well-filled  tray.  "I  assure 
you  that  I  shall  not  touch  it." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked  in  surprise.  "I  thought 
that  you,  too,  were  hungry." 

"I  am  hungry,"  I  said,  and  I  turned  to  walk  away, 
"but  I  shall  not  eat  until  to-morrow,  Mr.  Lannion." 

He  rose  quickly.  He  looked  puzzled  and  a  little 
anxious.  "Pray  explain,"  he  said. 

"I  have  a  friend  who  is  in  trouble,"  I  said.  "I 
cannot  bear  his  pain  for  him,  but  I  can,  by  starving 
myself,  suffer  a  little  with  him.  So  I  am  denying 
myself  food." 

"Ah!"  Mr.  Lannion  looked  at  me  steadily.  "It 
pleases  you  to  avenge  the  boy — is  that  it  ?" 

I  was  glad  to  see  that  his  happy  expression,  his 
159 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORKETH   FARM 

look  of  even  rapturous  enjoyment,  had  vanished. 
"Avenge  him?  No,"  I  replied.  "That  is  an  odd 
idea,  Mr.  Lannion." 

"Not  odd — for  a  woman,"  he  said  slowly.  "I 
punish  the  boy,  so  you  punish  me." 

I  raised  my  eyebrows.  I  glanced  from  him  to  the 
tray.  "Punish  you  ?"  I  exclaimed.  "Why,  I  give 
you  my  luncheon,  Mr.  Lannion!  I  return  good  for 
evil.  You  deprive  me  of  food  when  I  am  faint  for 
lack  of  it.  Yet  when  you  complain  of  hunger  I  bid 
you  eat." 

"It  has  not  occurred  to  you,"  he  said  in  low  tones, 
"that  you  might  possibly  win  forgiveness  for  the 
boy  without  threatening  to  make  yourself  ill  ?  What 
if  your  threat  be  disregarded  ?" 

I  remained  silent.  I  wished  very  much  that  I 
knew  what  I  ought  to  do — and  say.  I  bitterly  re- 
gretted my  inability  to  understand — and  so  manage 
— people.  If  Mr.  Lannion  were  a  horse,  I  said  to 
myself,  there  might  be  some  hope  of  my  ultimate  suc- 
cess. Were  he  a  horse  I  should  now  pretend  to  give 
him  his  head,  leaving  the  reins  loose.  Then  he 
would  soon  show  what  trick  he  contemplated  play- 
ing. For  Roddy's  sake  let  me  treat  him  as  a  horse 
• — and  not  pull  on  the  curb  too  soon. 

"Why  don't  you  try  bribery,  Aimee?"  he  sug- 
gested softly. 

The  trick  was  played! 

"I  will,"  I  said  gravely.  "If  you  will  forgive 
Roddy,  I  will  give  up  the  watch  and  buckle  I  asked 
for,  thus  sparing  you  the  expense  you  so  dread,  Mr. 
Lannion." 

And  as  he  flushed  hotly  under  the  sudden  lash 
of  my  words,  I  thought  with  Cooper  that  people  were 
strangely  akin  to  the  poor  dumb  beasts  after  all. 
There  followed  a  long  silence.  Then  Mr.  Lannion 
spoke : 

160 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"I  forgive  you,  because  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "I 
shall  not  forgive  the  boy  unless  you  make  it  worth 
my  while." 

I  pointed  to  the  tray.  "Bon  appetit,  monsieur" 
I  said,  "and  for  three  days,  good-bye !" 

I  ran  on  into  the  house  and  upstairs  to  my  room, 
where  I  determined  to  remain,  a  voluntary  prisoner, 
for  the  promised  time.  Delcievere  appeared  pres- 
ently. She  carried  a  plate  of  Charlotte  Russe  which 
she  offered  me  with  an  engaging  smile,  and  an  elab- 
orate pretence  of  not  having  heard  of  my  lack  of 
luncheon.  And  after  I  had  convinced  her  that  my 
decision  to  fast  was  not  to  be  shaken  by  either  coax- 
ing or  scolding,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  and 
Solomon  handed  in  a  basket  of  beautiful  cherries; 
the  first  I  had  seen  that  season.  But  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  breaking  my  word,  and  I  was  ashamed 
of  the  discomfort  my  desire  for  food  brought.  "Who 
sleeps  dines,"  says  the  French  proverb,  and  I  longed 
to  seek  refuge  from  my  disagreeable  sensations  in  a 
nap.  But  this  would  have  meant  disloyalty  to  Rod- 
dy, so  I  remained  awake.  Fretting  over  the  boy's 
wrongs  and  my  own  I  paced  the  room  until,  at  half 
past  four  o'clock,  even  Delcie's  serenity  gave  way. 

"If  my  Miss  Honey-love  would  only  stationary 
herself  to  reading  or  something!"  she  exclaimed 
plaintively. 

"Give  me  a  bit  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  please,"  I 
said.  And  when,  delighted  that  her  advice  was 
taken,  poor  Delcie  quickly  complied,  I  wrote: 

"Cherries  are  not  pomegranates,  and  I  am  not 
Proserpina,  but  nope." 

Folding  the  slip  I  tucked  it  in  among  the  cherries 
and,  summoning  Solomon,  returned  the  fruit  to  its 
sender.  Then  I  went  to  the  window  and  sat  down. 
I  had  done  all  that  I  could  force  myself  to  do  for 
the  child. 

161 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

The  minute-hand  of  the  little  clock  crawled 
slowly,  slowly.  Five  minutes  passed — ten — fifteen. 
It  was  a  quarter  of  five,  and  no  response  from  Mr. 
Lannion.  Then  followed  self-reproaches,  bitter,  in- 
tense. If  the  child  suffered  it  would  be  my  fault. 
My  fault,  because  were  I  to  stoop  to  a  little  flattery, 
a  little  coaxing,  a  half  hint  that  I  was  not  entirely 
unhappy  at  Ornith  Farm,  the  boy  would  be  forgiven. 
I  put  myself  in  Rodgers's  place.  Would  a  boy  of 
his  really  fine  nature  wish  wrong  to  be  done  that  he 
might  escape  physical  pain  ?  But  then,  again,  would 
it  be  wrong  to  act  a  lie  in  this  case  ? 

My  brain  whirled.  I  could  not  decide.  I  glanced 
at  the  clock.  Ten  minutes  of  five.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  and  began  again  my  restless  walk,  to  and  fro, 
to  and  fro.  I  was  sick  at  heart,  and  at  my  wits'  end. 
One  minute  of  five — five  o'clock. 

I  turned  toward  the  door.  The  struggle  was  over. 
My  pride  must  go  to  the  wall.  Then  with  lightning- 
like  clearness,  the  words  that  I  had  written  flashed 
suddenly  across  my  mind — and  with  a  new  meaning. 
I  had  known  that  they  carried  two,  but  I  now  real- 
ized that  the  short  sentence  was  capable  of  a  third 
interpretation.  If  Mr.  Lannion  had  so  understood 
it,  I  had  already  stooped — and  in  vain! 

Delcie,  rising  hastily,,  ran  forward,  her  hands  out- 
stretched. "Lawsy  me!"  she  exclaimed,  forgetting 
elegance  of  speech  in  her  alarm,  "I'm  fearful  you's 
goin'  to  faint,  you  look  so  pale." 

"Open  the  door,  please,"  came  a  cheerful,  childish 
treble  from  the  hall.  "I  can't,  my  hands  are  so 
full." 

I  sank  down  upon  the  nearest  chair  and  made  a 
desperate  effort  not  to  burst  out  crying.  For  the  gay 
voice  was  Rodgers's.  Delcie  hastened  to  obey  his 
summons,  and  he  entered,  carrying,  with  great  care, 
a  cup  of  hot  broth. 

162 


*. 

THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"Uncle  Rollis  says  you're  to  sip  it  slowly,  for  the 
starving  ought  to  begin  eating  by  degrees."  Roddy 
placed  the  cup  upon  the  window  sill,  and  sighed  in 
relief  over  the  successful  termination  of  his  career 
as  a  waiter.  "And  Uncle  Rollis  says  that  he's  had 
nothing  to  eat  since  breakfast,  and  will  you  please 
come  to  the  library  and  make  him  a  cup  of  tea  ?  He 
says  that  he  thinks  he  deserves  more  than  one  lump 
of  sugar,  but  he'll  leave  that  to  you.  Say,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Lannion's  messenger,  beginning  to  con- 
verse on  his  own  account  now  that  his  devoir  was 
accomplished,  "there  are  cherries  in  the  library!" 
He  gave  a  great  skip.  "Cherries!  Beauties!  I'm 
to  have  some !  If  you  blow  that  soup  it'll  cool  faster. 
Not  that  you're  to  hurry;  Uncle  Rollis  said  not; 
but  when  you've  drunk  it  we  can  go  down." 

I  did  hurry,  being  unable  to  resist  his  appealing 
eyes.  But  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the  staircase 
he  held  me  back  for  a  moment,  and  looking  up  at 
me  said,  in  half-stifled  tones:  "You  went  hungry 
for  me.  Uncle  Rollis  said  so.  And  I  won't  forget 
it — you  may  bet  your  life  I  won't !  And  you're  just 
like  Grace  Darling,  after  all." 

I  patted  his  shoulder  gently.  I  was  both  touched 
and  pleased.  "Thank  you,  Roddy,"  I  said  grate- 
fully. "But  I'm  not  a  bit  like  your  Grace  Darling, 
rowing  through  raging  billows  to  save  lives.  She 
f  was  really  grand." 

"You've  saved  me  a  flogging,"  insisted  Roddy, 
"and  I  won't  forget  it.  And  I'll  promise  you  not 
to  play  with  the  dogs  again." 


163 


XIV 

By  the  middle  of  that  month,  July,  I  had  won  for 
myself  a  certain  freedom.  The  doubting,  suspicious 
glances  from  ever-watching  eyes  had  ceased.  Al- 
though never  left  unguarded,  I  was  treated  by  all  as 
though  my  strange  delusions  were  forgotten.  It  was 
evidently  believed  that  my  sanity  was  almost  re- 
established. I  needed  care,  constant  care,  but  I  had 
nearly  recovered  from  the  unfortunate  attack  of  ner- 
vous prostration  resulting  from  Mrs.  Darling's  sudden 
death.  I  had  won  this  belief  by  the  daily,  nay,  hourly, 
exercise  of  self-control.  Since  the  first  days  of  my 
coming  to  Ornith  Farm  when  I  had  made  wild  ap- 
peals to  Dr.  Despard  for  help — striving,  even  fran- 
tically, to  convince  him  of  my  identity — I  had  been 
passive,  giving  way  to  no  passionate  outbreak  of  any 
kind.  This  had  been  hard,  very  hard.  But  because 
of  my  early  training,  I  was  able  to  remain  thus  in- 
active— to  bide  my  time. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon.  Mr.  Lannion,  Dr.  Des- 
pard, Mr.  King,  and  I  were  upon  the  veranda.  Mrs. 
Despard  was  upstairs,  napping.  Roddy  was  not 
present.  I  thought  I  would  see  how  far  I  might 
venture  to  extend  my  walks  abroad,  and  I  was  just 
about  to  speak  when  Mr.  Lannion  rose. 

"It's  delightful  here,"  he  said,  his  eyes  upon  me, 
"but  business  is  business,  and  I  must  attend  to  mine. 
No,  Luther,"  as  Dr.  Despard  made  a  motion  as  if 
to  accompany  him,  "I  can  finish  alone.  You  stay 
here — with  the  young  people."  And  including  Mr. 
King  and  me  in  a  wave  of  the  hand,  he  went  indoors. 

"Young?"  said  Mr.  King,  removing  his  hat  and 

164 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FAKM 

passing  a  hand  across  his  bald  head.  "Dear  me! 
what  did  he  say  that  for?  I  thought" — he  glanced 
reproachfully  toward  the  door  as  if  he  still  saw  Mr. 
Lannion — "I  thought  that  it  must  have  been  a  dream 
— this  shining,  slippery  poll!  I  thought  I  had  but 
dreamed  that  I  was  a  bald-headed  patriarch!  I 
expected  to  grasp  a  plentiful  crop  of  curls — like 
Miss  Darling's.  It  was  mean  of  Rollis  to  start  me 
off."  Dr.  Despard  smiled.  "I,  too,  like  Rollis,"  Mr. 
King  went  on,  "have  a  strong  partiality  for" — he 
paused  and  threw  a  handkerchief  over  his  head  as  if 
preparing  for  a  nap — "for — hope.  But  I  don't  in- 
dulge in  such  desperate  grabs  at  hope,  as  a  general 
thing."  Dr.  Despard  turned  his  bright  dark  eyes 
questioningly  upon  the  speaker,  but  only  the  lower 
portion  of  Mr.  King's  India-rubber-like  face  was 
visible.  The  big  handkerchief  concealed  his  eyes. 
"I  don't  expect  to  be  young  and  fair  again,  I  don't," 
he  murmured  drowsily,  "not  unless  some  rash  in- 
dividual, like  R.  Lannion,  Esquire,  starts  me  off." 

Dr.  Despard  now  gave  me  his  full  attention,  Mr. 
King  being  veiled  from  over-curious  scrutiny.  I 
raised  my  eyebrows  and  smiled. 

"Isn't  he  funny?"  I  said,  nodding  toward  Mr. 
King.  "I  love  nonsense,  don't  you?  I  wish  he 
wouldn't  go  to  sleep.  Please  don't  go  to  sleep,  Mr. 
King." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded.  His  voice  seemed  to 
come  from  a  great  distance. 

Again  I  glanced  at  Dr.  Despard  and  smiled.  He 
readjusted  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair.  Did  I 
imagine  it  or  was  there  an  expression  of  relief  upon 
his  white  mask-like  face  ? 

"You  promised  to  take  me  to  the  woods  some  time, 
Mr.  King,"  I  said.  "Are  you  too  sleepy  and  is  it  too 
hot  for  us  to  go  there  now?  And  you  will  come, 
too,  Dr.  Despard  ?"  I  turned  quickly  to  the  doctor, 

165 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Mr.  King  swept  off  his  handkerchief  and  got  up. 
Bringing  his  heels  together  with  a  click,  he  made  me 
a  neat  bow  and  recited  impressively,  hand  on  heart: 

" '  There  was  an  Old  Person  of  Cadiz,  who  was  always  polite 

to  all  ladies; 

But  in  handing  his  daughter,  he  fell  into  the  water,  which 
drowned  that  Old  Person  of  Cadiz.' 

But  since  there's  no  water  in  the  woods,  and  I'm 
born  to  be  hanged,  I  think  we  may  venture,  Miss 
Darling." 

"And  I  am  not  your  daughter,"  I  added,  smiling, 
and  begged  him  to  wait  while  I  fetched  a  sunshade. 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  veto  your  plan,  Miss  Darling," 
said  Dr.  Despard.  He  did  not  look  at  me  as  he 
spoke.  "Solomon  Jasper  is  not  on  hand — this  is 
Sunday,  you  know.  And  I  doubt  if  I  can  get  as  far 
as  the  woods  to-day." 

"We  need  a  chaperon,  it  would  seem,"  remarked 
Mr.  King,  in  airy  surprise  to  the  distant  woodland. 
"I  must  be  young,  after  all !"  And  again,  with  an 
appearance  of  great  slyness,  he  furtively  felt  his  head. 

"Young  and  giddy,"  said  the  doctor  lightly. 
"Some  people  never  grow  up,  Tom." 

"We  might  go  to  the  home  field,"  I  suggested, 
concealing  with  recently  learned  skill — the  skill  of 
a  prisoner — my  disappointment.  "That  is  not  very 
far  away,  and  the  walk  is  shady.  You  can  go  as  far 
as  the  home  field,  I  trust,  Dr.  Despard  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  slow  and  unwilling  reply,  "if 
you  really  want  to  walk,  Miss  Darling.  It  is  so 
comfortable  here." 

"How  kind  of  you !"  I  said  gayly,  ignoring  his  last 
words.  "And  Mr.  King  will  fill  his  pockets  with 
lumps  of  sugar  for  me  and  carry  a  camp  chair  for  you. 
Mr.  King  is  always  good  to  people." 

This  small  compliment  had  the  odd  effect  of  de- 
166 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

pressing  Mr.  King,  and  although  he  did  at  once 
what  I  suggested,  he  walked  to  the  meadow  in  a 
gloomy  frame  of  mind.  Indeed,  so  distrait  was  he 
that  twice  on  the  way  thither  he  planted  the  camp 
chair  in  an  inviting  bit  of  shade  and  stood  still. 

"You  forget  that  I'm  going  too,  Tommy,"  the 
doctor  said  good-humoredly  the  second  time.  "Not 
but  what  I  know  that  two's  company !" 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Mr.  King  apologetically; 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Lu.  The  truth  is  I  wasn't  think- 
ing of  what  I  was  doing." 

"Of  what  were  you  thinking,  then?"  asked  the 
doctor.  He  spoke  sharply. 

"Of  the  past,"  was  the  brief  retort.  "Just  as  you 
do  sometimes."  And  we  none  of  us  spoke  again  un- 
til the  pasture  ground  was  reached. 

Abatos  and  Nonios,  the  two  black  carriage  horses, 
had  been  turned  out  to  graze.  Cooper  was  away,  en- 
joying his  Sunday  afternoon  outing.  Nonios  trotted 
whinnying  across  the  field  to  welcome  me,  well  aware 
of  the  treat  in  store  for  him.  He  was  a  handsome, 
powerful  creature,  and  very  intelligent. 

"Nome's  awful  smart,"  Cooper  would  say,  "an' 
he  takes  things  by  and  large.  He  don't  never  get 
over-excited,  Nonie  don't,  but  he  walks  away  with  the 
bun  every  time.  Yes,  sir,  yes-yes,  he  takes  things 
by  and  large." 

That  he  took  sugar  by  and  large  was  evident.  He 
crunched  the  lumps  dealt  out  to  him  with  a  com- 
posed enjoyment,  very  different  from  the  nervous 
greed  of  Abatos,  his  companion. 

"Abbie's  got  enough  go,"  was  Cooper's  verdict, 
"but  his  head's  as  slow  as  midnight.  Anythin'  un- 
usual s'prises  him  to  a  standstill,  unless  Nome's 
along  to  take  the  lead." 

"Rollis  is  clever  at  a  horse  deal,"  said  Dr.  Des- 
pard,  as  he  leaned  against  the  fence  at  my  side. 

167 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Nonios  is  as  good  under  the  saddle  as  in  harness. 
He  is  both  sweet-tempered  and  swift,  Rollis  tells  me." 

"Horse-dealing  and  card-playing  are  twins,"  ob- 
served Mr.  King  meditatively.  "Is  that  a  proverb, 
Dotty?  Or  have  I  evolved  the  deep  thought  from 
my  inner  consciousness  ?" 

The  doctor  laughed,  and,  taking  the  camp  chair, 
retired  into  the  shade  of  a  neighboring  tree.  He 
was  just  out  of  ear-shot  if  one  spoke  in  low  tones. 

"If  you're  lucky  in  a  horse-deal,"  murmured  Mr. 
King,  looking  straight  ahead,  so  that  the  doctor,  who 
was  seated  behind  us,  might  not  know  that  he  was 
speaking,  "does  that  mean  that  in  a  deal  of  hearts 
you're — not  ?" 

"Honesty  is  the  best  policy  in  both,"  I  said.  "My 
knowledge  only  goes  that  far." 

Mr.  King  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Nonios  ate, 
with  calm  satisfaction,  the  last  lump  of  sugar. 

"This  is  a  day,"  remarked  my  companion  abruptly, 
but  softly,  "when  I  loathe  all  men,  myself  worst  of 
all.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  we  were  all  dead — 
every  man  Jack  of  us !  And  a  fresh  start  made." 

"Then,  if  that  is  the  way  you  feel,  I  may  amuse 
myself  without  dread  of  well-meant  interference,"  I 
said.  "I  am  Hope  Carmichael,  Mr.  King.  The  news- 
papers have  probably  told  of  my  riding  feats.  I  will 
prove  that  I — am  I,  if  you  will  play  fair  and  give 
me  the  chance." 

His  broad  baby  face  went  white.  "I  can't,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely.  "If  it's  true,  you'd  be  over  the 
fence  in  no  time,  and " 

"No,"  I  interrupted  hastily,  while,  in  imitation  of 
his  caution,  I  kept  my  face  partly  turned  from  him 
and  pretended  to  be  absorbed  in  caressing  Nonios. 
"No,  I  give  you  my  word.  Do  you,  in  your  turn, 
give  me  my  chance  to  prove  my  identity — to  the 
doctor  as  well  as  to  you." 

168 


THE   PEISONEK    OF    OKKETH   FAKM 

"I'm  damned  if  I  won't !"  was  the  terse  answer. 

Before  the  words  had  more  than  left  his  lips  I  had 
topped  the  fence  and  tossed  myself  upon  Nonios. 
I  heard  Dr.  Despard  cry  out  in  alarm,  but  I  dared 
not  glance  toward  him  and  Mr.  King.  It  was  all 
I  could  do  to  look  out  for  myself. 

Since  my  first  visit  to  the  stables  I  had  become 
well  acquainted  with  the  characters  of  its  equine  in- 
mates. And  I  would  not  have  flung  myself  thus  reck- 
lessly upon  the  well-shaped  back  of  Nonios,  if  I  had 
not  been  there  before.  Cooper,  treating  me  as  though 
I  were  still  but  a  little  girl,  had  several  times,  at  my 
urgent  desire,  mounted  me  upon  the  big  black  horse 
when  in  his  stall.  While  Solomon,  lazily  on  guard 
at  the  stable  door,  had  preferred  his  newspaper,  or 
the  view  outward,  to  watching  my  childish  whims. 

It  was  his  business  to  see  that  I  did  not  escape 
from  Ornith  Farm.  In  the  stable  with  Cooper  I  was 
safe.  So  Nonios  and  I  had  become  fast  friends,  and 
it  was  upon  this  friendship  and  his  cool  head  that  I 
now  depended.  Konios  took  things  by  and  large — 
how  would  he  take  me  ? 

My  unexpected  descent  so  astonished  him  that  he 
plunged  and,  snorting,  started  on  a  flying  gallop 
around  the  field.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  circus 
training  and  still  more  because  of  my  fondness  for 
riding  bareback  in  the  meadows  when  I  was  a  child, 
I  must,  most  assuredly,  have  been  thrown.  But, 
kicking  off  my  slippers  as  I  went,  I  stuck  on  as  best 
I  might,  clinging  to  Nonios's  mane,  and  soothing 
the  wise  creature  with  my  voice  until  his  perilous 
racing  gallop  became  the  easy  canter  that  held  no 
danger.  I  well  knew  that  in  the  start  off  I  should  be 
little  noticed  by  Mr.  King.  He  would  have  his  hands 
full  with  Dr.  Despard,  and  my  manner  of  keeping 
my  seat  would  not  be  seen.  So  I  paid  no  heed  to 
appearances,  but  returning  to  childish  methods,  es- 

169 


THE   PKISOKEK   OF   OENITH   FAKM 

caped  the  misfortune  of  sliding  off.  What  I  had 
most  dreaded  were  the  turns  to  be  made  at  the  cor- 
ners of  the  field,  but  by  the  time  I  had  successfully 
rounded  the  first  Nonios  understood  that  steadi- 
ness was  desired.  With  the  innate  desire  to  do  his 
best,  possessed  by  every  intelligent  and  well-broken 
horse,  Nonios  now  showed  that  he  had  also  the  rare 
quality  of  feeling  responsible  for  the  safety  of  his 
rider. 

I  had  circled  the  meadow  but  once  when  the  sound 
of  a  whistle,  blown  three  times,  told  me  that  Dr. 
Despard  had  not  ventured  so  far  from  the  house  with 
me  unarmed.  I  was  assailed  by  a  very  great  tempta- 
tion. Why  not  leap  the  fence  and  make  a  dash  for 
freedom  ?  I  had  given  my  word,  but  should  it  hold 
a  prisoner  such  as  I  ?  A  girl's  promise !  Did  Mr. 
King  expect  it  would  be  kept  ? 

Iconics  was  now  ambling  gently.  I  glanced  toward 
Mr.  King.  In  his  arms  he  held  Dr.  Despard,  and 
was,  apparently,  too  much  overcome  by  laughter  to 
notice  the  doctor's  anger.  Mr.  King  shouted,  he 
roared,  he  swayed  his  friend  to  and  fro,  deaf  to  his 
frantic  complaints.  Suddenly,  as  I  stared,  knowing 
this  mirth  to  be  assumed,  Mr.  King  flung  his  head 
back  and,  while  still  laughing,  shot  one  swift  glance 
at  me.  And  I  could  not  tell  if  the  look  meant  "go"  or 
"stay."  What  to  do  I  did  not  know,  for  my  given 
word  held  me  in  spite  of  my  wish  to  disregard  it. 

The  misery  of  decision  was  spared  me.  Up  the 
slope  toward  the  field  a  tall  man  came  running. 
Solomon  Jasper,  returning  from  his  too  few  hours 
of  absence  from  duty.  The  same  moment,  hatless 
and  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  as  if  he  had  dropped  his  work 
at  the  doctor's  shrill  summons,  Mr.  Lannion  appeared 
on  the  path  leading  downward  from  the  house. 

"Quick,  Eolly!"  shouted  Mr.  King,  releasing  the 
doctor  to  make  a  trumpet  of  his  hands,  "you're  just 

170 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

in  time.     Miss  Darling's  showing  us  how  to  ride. 
It's  grand !" 

Mr.  Lannion,  paying  no  attention,  ran  past  him, 
cleared  the  fence,  and  in  another  moment  was  beside 
me.  His  face  was  quite  gray ;  beneath  his  thick  mus- 
tache his  white  lips  twitched  nervously.  He  laid  his 
hand  upon  Nonios's  shoulder  and,  while  keeping  pace 
with  him,  called  to  the  horse  to  stop.  When  Nonios 
obeyed,  coming  down  gently  from  his  easy  canter, 
Mr.  Lannion  held  up  his  arms  to  me. 

"Come,"  he  said. 

I  sat  quiet,  looking  down  at  him.  I  knew  that 
my  face  was  as  colorless  as  his.  At  last  I  spoke. 

"I  will  ride  to  where  Dr.  Despard  is,"  I  said 
slowly.  "You  may  lead  Nonios  by  the  mane,  if  you 
wish." 

"No,"  he  said  curtly,  "you  will  dismount  here. 
I  will  lift  you  down." 

It  had  cost  me  much  to  speak.  I  was  in  a  painful 
state  of  excitement.  The  swiftness  with  which  the 
barriers  against  escape  had  been  swung  into  place 
terrified  me.  And  although  I  sat  erect  upon  the  back 
of  the  big  black  horse  and  smiled  down  serenely  at 
the  man  beside  me  (my  manner  the  ghost  of  that 
belonging  to  past  days  in  the  ring),  I  was  shaken 
by  dread. 

"Come !"  repeated  Mr.  Lannion,  but  his  voice  was 
less  harsh.  Then  he  caught  sight  of  my  slipper- 
less  feet,  only  half  hidden  by  my  fluttering  muslins. 
"Where  are  your  shoes  ?"  he  demanded.  What " 

" '  Wait  not  to  find  thy  slippers/  " 

quoted  a  gay  voice,  and  Mr.  King  joined  us.  Curi- 
ously enough  he,  too,  was  oddly  pale,  although  he  was 
smiling  broadly  and  appeared  to  be  in  capital  spirits. 
And  he  was  as  breathless  as  though  he  had  been 
running,  which  was  not  the  case. 

171 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"I've  sent  Jasper  for  saddle  and  bridle,"  he  said, 
his  eyes  roving  everywhere  save  toward  Mr.  Lannion 
or  me.  "I  thought  since  it  scares  you  and  Dotty  to 
see  Miss  Darling  ride  bareback,  she  might  as  well  be 
properly  fitted  out." 

"She  will  return  to  the  house,"  said  Mr.  Lannion 
briefly.  "Come,  Aimee !" 

"Dear  me !"  ejaculated  Mr.  King,  in  perfectly  ex- 
pressionless tones.  "Walk — in  stockings?" 

"She  shall  be  carried,"  was  the  stern  answer. 
"The  usual  method  employed  with  wilful  chil- 
dren." 

"And  with  those  temporarily — insane,"  I  added, 
anger  banishing  fear. 

"I  want  to  see  her  ride!"  complained  Mr.  King, 
as  though  speaking  to  himself.  "I  shall  yet.  Hope 
on,  hope,"  he  paused  an  instant,  "Hope — ever!" 

As  he  finished  his  slow  sentence  I  saw  Dr.  Despard 
approaching.  He  had  gone  to  the  gate  and  thus 
effected  an  easy  entrance.  And  as  Mr.  Lannion  evi- 
dently did  not  like  to  go  to  the  length  of  lifting  me 
by  force  from  my  high  position,  I  was  still  upon 
Nonios  when  the  doctor  arrived. 

"Dr.  Despard,"  I  said,  the  moment  he  was  within 
ear-shot — and  my  heart  began  to  beat  so  violently 
that  I  lacked  breath  as  greatly  as  had  Mr.  King — 
"Dr.  Despard,  I  want  to  ride  around  the  meadow. 
Mr.  Lannion  says  'no.'  What  do  you  say  ?" 

The  doctor  looked  the  worse  for  his  struggle  with 
the  volatile  Mr.  King.  His  usually  white  cheeks 
boasted  each  a  bright  pink  spot.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
had  recourse  to  rouge. 

"I  say  no,  too,"  he  replied  coldly.  "Yon  are  al- 
ready over-excited." 

This  was  the  touch  too  much.  Figuratively  speak- 
ing, I  took  the  bit  in  my  teeth  and,  as  in  old  days 
with  my  dear  Lady  Disdain,  "went  wild," 

172 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"I  shall  be  more  so  if  I  am  thwarted,"  I  said 
quickly,  and  there  was  the  tremor  of  suppressed  tears 
in  my  voice.  "You  call  me  mad.  So  be  it  But  in 
that  case  why  cross  the  harmless  whims  of  a  mad 
person  ?" 

"This  is  not  a  harmless  whim,"  the  doctor  began 
hurriedly,  while  the  unwonted  color  in  his  cheeks 
went  and  came.  I  interrupted  him. 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  "you  seek  to  reason  with 
a  mad  girl  ?  I  am  flattered,  Dr.  Despard."  I  made 
a  little  salutation  with  my  hand  in  lieu  of  a  whip. 
"But  I  should  think  that  it  would  be  well  to  humor 
the  insane — when  possible.  Ah!  here  is  Solomon, 
with  saddle  and  bridle.  I  am  to  have  my  way  ?" 

Solomon,  who  had  fancied  that  Mr.  King  was 
giving  the  order  for  Mr.  Lannion,  now  caught  Abates 
(whose  curiosity  had  brought  him  within  easy  reach) 
and  saddled  him  with  a  man's  saddle.  And  I  saw 
that  a  second  bridle  hung  over  Solomon's  arm,  and 
that  he  held  two  whips. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  demanded  Mr.  Lannion 
sharply.  When  Solomon  explained  that  he  had 
thought  Mr.  Lannion  wished  to  accompany  me,  and 
that  he,  Jasper,  considered  it  wiser  for  me  to  have 
at  least  reins  to  depend  upon,  so  had  ventured  to 
bring  the  second  bridle,  I  got  my  answer.  "You 
may  take  both  horses  to  the  stable,"  said  Mr.  Lannion 
severely,  "and  learn  that  it  is  I  who  give  orders  here 
— not  Mr.  King.  Come,  Aimee !"  He  again  made 
as  though  he  would  lift  me  from  the  saddle. 

Jasper  had  approached  very  near.  Mr.  King  was 
holding  Abatos  as  Solomon,  innocently  suppos- 
ing that  he  was  doing  what  his  master  wished,  had 
already  given  me  the  whip  and  was  just  about 
to  bit  Nonios.  At  Mr.  Lannion's  harsh  reproof  he 
stopped  instantly  and  stepped  back  from  the  horse's 
head. 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKLTH   FARM 

"Come,  Aimee!"  Mr.  Lannion  reiterated. 
"Enough  of  this  nonsense."  And  he  put  his  hands 
about  my  waist  to  jump  me  down. 

I  forgot  my  determination  to  be  passive,  submis- 
sive. I  forgot  the  wise  resolves  made  during  long 
sleepless  nights.  An  anger  such  as  I  had  never  be- 
fore felt  swept  away  every  thought  of  expediency, 
every  good  resolution.  I  leaned  forward,  I  raised 
my  whip  high,  and  lashed  him  across  his  head  and 
shoulders.  He  started  back,  and  Mr.  King,  drop- 
ping Abates'  bridle,  came  swiftly  between  us,  just 
in  time  to  catch  me  as  I  slid  to  the  ground.  The 
horse,  affrighted,  trotted  snorting  away  across  the 
field,  and  I,  covering  my  face  with  my  hands,  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"Halloo!"  shrilled  a  child's  voice,  "what  are  you 
all  doing  there  ?" 

The  men,  as  if  by  a  common  impulse,  closed  up, 
screening  me  from  Roddy's  curious  gaze.  He  had 
almost  reached  us.  I  battled  with  the  sobs  which 
convulsed  both  body  and  soul. 

"Say,  you,  Tom,"  the  child  continued  as  he  drew 
near,  "you  got  me  a  jolly  big  rating,  do  you  know 
it?" 

"How,  Roddy?"  It  was  Dr.  Despard  who  spoke. 
Mr.  King's  usually  fluent  tongue  was  unaccountably 
still. 

"Oh,  Tom  chose  my  Bible  verse  for  me,"  said 
Roddy  cheerfully,  "and  mother  says  he's  not  to  do 
it  again.  She  says  if  that's  the  kind  of  text  he 
preached  from  when  he  was  a  minister,  she  doesn't 
wonder  that  he  didn't  draw." 

Dr.  Despard — was  it  to  gain  time  for  me  ? — asked 
Roddy  to  repeat  the  verse.  "Let  us  hear  what  you 
have  learned,  my  son,"  he  said. 

The  child  obeyed,  his  voice  suddenly  grave  and 
earnest. 

174 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"As  the  bird  by  wandering,  as  the  swallow  by 
flying,  so  the  curse  causeless  shall  not  come." 

In  the  profound  silence  that  followed,  my  sobs 
were  plainly  heard;  and  Roddy,  his  thin  face  care- 
worn, his  blue  eyes  distended,  had  circled  the  men 
and  was  at  my  side  before  they  could  stop  him. 

"What's  she  crying  for  ?"  he  asked,  in  low,  eager 
tones.  "Has  she  hurt  herself?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  King  quickly,  with  meaning, 
"she's  lost  her  slippers — and  hurt  her  feet.  If  you'll 
hunt  the  slippers  up  I'll  give  you  a  quarter." 

"Where  shall  I  look?"  said  the  child;  "I  don't 
want  money  for  it,  Tom."  Then,  laying  his  small 
hand  upon  my  shoulder,  he  said  gently:  "Don't  you 
cry,  Aimee.  I'll  find  your  slippers,  and  father  will 
do  the  rest." 

He  started  off  on  his  search  and  soon  had  found 
what  he  sought.  With  painstaking  care  he  put  the 
slippers  on  for  me,  and  I  wondered  that  his  child's 
hands  had  such  gentle  deftness. 

"Can  you  walk,  do  you  think?"  he  inquired  anx- 
iously. I  had  overcome  my  sobs,  and  even  managed 
to  smile  a  little  as  I  nodded  in  acquiescence.  "Lean 
on  my  shoulder,"  said  my  young  protector  affection- 
ately. "I'm  really  very  strong.  And  father  will 
make  your  feet  all  right,  won't  you,  father  ?" 

Dr.  Despard  made  no  response.  We  returned  to 
the  house  in  silence. 


175 


XV 

I  slept  very  little  that  night.  Over  and  over  again 
I  asked  myself  what  impression  had  been  made  upon 
Mr.  King,  and  if  in  him  I  had  found  a  friend.  If 
not,  then  by  my  wild  outburst  of  surely  righteous 
wrath  I  had  lost  the  little  previously  gained. 
Wearied  out  at  last  I  fell  asleep  toward  dawn,  and 
did  not  rise  until  late  in  the  morning.  I  dreaded 
going  downstairs  and  meeting  Mr.  Lannion  and  Dr. 
Despard.  Especially  the  latter,  whom  I  no  longer 
believed  an  unskilful  physician  but  Mr.  Lannion's 
willing  accomplice.  But  I  felt  I  must  see  Mr.  King. 
Perhaps,  I  said  to  myself — for  I  was  very  young 
and  ignorant — perhaps  he  had  already  left  Ornith 
Farm,  and  was  sending  news  of  my  whereabouts  to 
Max.  This  wild  hope  carried  me  quickly  in  search 
of  him.  I  heard  Mr.  Lannion's  voice  in  the  hall 
above  as  I  left  my  room.  It  floated  down  the  stair- 
case, the  top  of  which  he  must  have  just  gained. 

"Despard  believes  it's  the  best  outfit  in  the  coun- 
try ;  but  we  need  you  to " 

I  held  myself  rigidly  still,  not  wishing  to  be  dis- 
covered. I  heard  no  more,  however,  for  the  speaker, 
with  his  companions,  passed  into  one  of  the  upper 
rooms  and  closed  the  door.  I  had  never  visited  the 
third  story.  It  was  "taboo."  Mr.  King  had  his 
quarters  there,  I  knew,  and  Mr.  Lannion  and  the 
doctor  were  often  to  be  seen  on  their  way  thither. 
The  servants  slept  in  the  basement 

I  continued  my  way  downstairs  as  far  as  the  land- 
ing ;  from  there  I  looked  into  the  lower  hall.  Jasper 

176 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORKITH   FARM 

sat  beneath  the  fierce-beaked  eagle  reading  a  news- 
paper. He  showed  that  he  was  aware  of  my  pres- 
ence by  rising  and  standing  at  attention;  he  did  not 
look  up.  When  I  asked  who  was  downstairs  he  said 
laconically : 

"No  one,  miss." 

I  did  not  wish  to  question  him  as  to  Mr.  King's 
whereabouts.  Aileen's  door  opened  while  I  stood 
hesitating,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  and  Mrs.  Des- 
pard  came  out. 

"Where  are  you  going,  dearie  ?"  she  asked  as  she 
caught  sight  of  me.  "Better  come  in  and  see  Aileen 
and  me  for  a  little." 

She  rustled  down  to  my  side  and  laid  a  kind  hand 
upon  my  shoulder.  I  knew  from  the  anxious  ex- 
pression in  her  prominent,  pale-blue  eyes  that  she 
had  been  told  that  I  was  not  so  well.  I  could  im- 
agine that  I  heard  the  doctor  saying,  in  tones  of 
grave  regret,  that  his  "young  patient"  had  had 
"rather  a  serious  relapse."  At  the  moment  I  hated 
him  even  more  fiercely  than  I  hated  Mr.  Lannion. 

"There's  not  much  view  from  these  north  win- 
dows," my  companion  continued,  staring  at  the  wide 
sweep  of  gravel  below,  the  tall  evergreens  growing 
close  on  either  side,  and  the  path  beyond  leading 
to  the  hedged-in  garden.  "I  love  a  spreading  pros- 
pect myself.  I  must  have  a  horryzon.  And  that," 
she  went  on  reflectively,  "is  why  I  don't  care  for 
mountings.  Just  great  lumps  of  dirt  between  the 
horryzon  and  me  1  And  I  notice  that  even  folks  who 
say  they  love  mountings  are  always  and  forever  shin- 
ning up  them,  to  see  something  else.  It's  real  hot 
this  morning,  ain't  it?  Come,  let's  go  sit  with 
Aileen!" 

It  was  very  hot.  Aileen  looked  flushed  and  fever- 
ish, I  thought,  as  I  kissed  her  good-morning.  She, 
too,  regarded  me  with  troubled  eyes.  I  smiled  down 

177 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FAEM 

upon  her  reassuringly  and  an  odd,  bewildered  ex- 
pression succeeded  the  anxious  one. 

"Where  is  Mr.  King?"  I  asked,  as  I  sat  down 
beside  her.  "Has  he  gone  away?" 

"No,  he  hasn't,"  said  Mrs.  Despard  irritably, 
"but  I  'most  wish  he  had.  He  sets  Roddy  up  so. 
No,  he's  upstairs  now ;  him  and  Loo  and  Rollis  Lan- 
nion  and  two  friends.  Yes,  they've  come  to  stay" — 
in  answer  to  my  look  of  inquiry — "they're  here 
often." 

"What  is  the  'outfit'  ?"  I  asked. 

"Outfit?"  repeated  Mrs.  Despard. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  heard  Mr.  Lannion  say  that 
Dr.  Despard  believed  some  'outfit'  to  be  the  best  in 
the  country.  He  spoke  as  though  they  were  on  their 
way  to  see  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  mused,  curiosity  plainly  visi- 
ble in  every  feature.  Then,  with  a  look  of  disgust, 
she  exclaimed :  "Probably  nothing  but  some  dull  old 
books  on  something  or  other !  When  those  men  come 
here  to  stay,  Rollis  Lannion  and  Loo  sit  upstairs 
an'  talk  an'  gabble  till  they're  just  tired  out." 

"I  never  hear  them  gabbling,  Henrietta,"  said 
Aileen  good-naturedly,  "and  you  know  you  don't. 
Henrietta  is  not  allowed  upstairs,"  she  explained, 
smiling.  "Cousin  Rollis  likes  to  have  his  things  up 
there  left  in  Solomon's  charge." 

"Which  I've  no  wish  to  go,"  said  Mrs.  Despard 
with  embittered  dignity;  "it's  knee-deep  in  dust, 
prob'ly!  But  if  they  don't  talk,  then,  I  ask,  what 
do  they  do  ?"  Aileen  had  no  answer  ready,  and  Mrs. 
Despard  repeated  solemnly,  "I  ask,  what  do  they  do  ? 
If  they  don't  talk,"  she  continued,  "why  does  Loo 
Despard  return  from  their  society  with  his  brains 
so  momonuxed  up  that  he  can't  scarcely  hear  what 
I'm  sayin'  ?  But  they  do  talk,  girls,  and  I'll  tell 
you  what  about,  which  the  doctor  he  told  me.  It's 

178 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

scientific  re-search !"  She  stared  at  us  each  in  turn. 
"Scientific  re-search — that's  what  it  is.  And  so 
long  as  they  don't  go  to  cutting  up  live  animals  in 
it,  they're  free  to  continue.  Which  I  said  the  same 
to  Rollis  Lannion  and  Loo  Despard,  and  I  said  it 
firm.  'If  you  cut  up  poor  living  creatures,'  said  I, 
'to  learn  somethin'  to  cure  women  and  children  as 
you  say  so  fine  (which  would  a  thousand  times  rather 
die  than  have  poor  dumb  beasts  suffer  torture), 
then,'  I  said,  'if  you  do,'  said  I,  'I'll  break  the  door 
down  and  learn  you  what  sufferin'  alive  means.' 
Which  I'd  do  it,  too  1" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Aileen  seemed 
preoccupied.  I  felt  miserable  and  unlike  conversa- 
tion. "It  can't  be  books,  after  all,"  Mrs.  Despard 
burst  out  suddenly,  staring  solemnly  at  me.  "Books 
ain't  never  called  outfits." 
•>  "No,  dear  Henrietta,"  acquiesced  Aileen  patiently. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  meant  clothes?"  asked  Mrs. 
Despard.  "But  no" — without  waiting  for  an  answer 
— "Rollis  Lannion  don't  care  about  clothes.  I  do 
wish  I  knew  what  he  meant!" 

"Why  do  you  care,  dear  ?"  said  Aileen  soothingly. 
"It's  probably  nothing  interesting." 

"Why  do  I  care?"  repeated  Mrs.  Despard  irrita- 
bly. "If  Malcolm  Lucas  was  admirin'  'outfits'  as 
being  the  handsomest  in  the  country,  wouldn't  you 
care  ?" 

"Then  why  not  ask  Dr.  Despard?"  I  very  natu- 
rally demanded.  "He  is  the  one  who  can  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Despard  surveyed  me  with  lofty  but  withal 
friendly  pity.  "When  you're  married,"  she  ex- 
plained condescendingly,  "you'll  understand.  And 
I  just  guess,"  she  continued,  wagging  her  much  be- 
frizzled  head  at  me  solemnly,  "that  you'll  find  it 
ain't  always  so  easy  to  question  your  husband  as  you 
think !  Which,  of  course,  you'll  have  the  advantage 

179 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

of  bein'  an  old  man's  darling — not  that  Rollis  Lan- 
nion  is  so  old,  not  forty  yet,  but,  as  compared  to 
you » 

I  rose  to  my  feet,  I  held  up  my  hand.  "Stop!" 
I  said. 

"For  God's  sake,  Henrietta!"  exclaimed  poor 
Aileen. 

"What  have  I  done  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Despard.  She, 
too,  rose,  and  stood  staring  at  me,  red-faced  and 
scared.  "I  ain't  said  anything  but  what  every  one 
knows  and  says !  A  man  is  a  sight  easier  before  mar- 
riage than  after.  I  ain't  talkin'  against  Rollis  Lan- 
nion  in  particular.  And  I'm  not  goin'  back  on  my 
own  husband.  Men  are  all  alike  in  their  ways  be- 
fore and  after  marriage.  It  ain't  Loo  Despard  or 
Rollis  Lannion — it's  just  man !" 

I  laughed  jarringly,  forlornly,  and  sank  down 
upon  my  chair.  Aileen  had  become  very  pale.  She 
watched  me  timidly,  intense  pity  in  her  lovely  eyes. 
At  this  painful  juncture  Roddy  came  briskly  in.  I 
think  we  were  all  very  glad  to  see  him. 

"I'm  the  elevator  boy,"  he  announced,  surveying 
us  with  complacent  friendliness.  "Whoever  goes  up 
or  downstairs  must  ring  for  me." 

"Where  have  you  been  ?"  his  mother  asked.  She 
spoke  crossly,  evidently  pleased  to  have  some  one 
upon  whom  to  wreak  her  spleen.  "And  how  many 
times  have  I  told  you  not  to  bounce  in  here  without 
knocking  ?" 

"Never  once!"  was  the  indignant  reply.  "And 
Aileen  says " 

"That  is  an  untruth,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Despard 
angrily;  "I've  told  you  fifty  times  if  once " 

"No,  you  never!"  insisted  Rodgers  doggedly. 

"Rodgers  Despard,"  cried  his  mother  in  awful 
tones,  "look  me  in  the  eye!  Look  me  in  the  eye 

and  dare " 

180 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORMTH   FARM 

"Oh,  please,  Henrietta!"  implored  Aileen  from 
the  bed.  "Don't  scold  him!  It's  so  hot,  and  I'm 
not  feeling  well,  and " 

"There,"  stormed  Mrs.  Despard  triumphantly, 
catching  Roddy  as  he  went  through  with  the  pecul- 
iar dance  always  evoked  by  her  order  to  look  her 
in  the  eye,  "there,  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  It's  made 
her  ill,  your  bouncing  in!" 

"You  let  me  be !"  cried  the  boy,  squirming  out  of 
her  grasp  like  an  eel.  "You're  mad  about  some- 
thing, or  you  wouldn't  be  so  cross.  I'll  tell  you 
something" — he  had  gained  the  door  and,  sure  of 
escape,  grinned  impishly  at  his  irate  mother — "that 
Tommy  said,  if  you  want?"  Mrs.  Despard  stared 
but  said  nothing.  "It  was  about  you  and  Aimee," 
continued  Roddy  teasingly. 

"You  are  not  to  go  with  Tom  King,  Rodgers 
Despard,"  commanded  his  mother.  "What  did  he 
say  ?" 

"He  said — "  began  Rodgers,  then  stopped  short. 

"Well,  go  on,"  from  Mrs.  Despard  eagerly. 

"Guess  I'd  better  not  tell — 'twas  only  something 
about  Aimee's  singing." 

"She  doesn't  sing,"  was  the  quick  response,  "do 
you,  Aimee?"  turning  to  me. 

"Yes,  I  sing,"  I  said  quietly. 

Rodgers  forgot  his  mother;  he  advanced  into  the 
room.  "My!"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you  really?"  I 
bowed.  "Will  you  sing  for  me — now?" 

I  looked  at  Aileen. 

"Pray  do,"  she  said — with  suppressed  eagerness. 

I  turned  to  Mrs.  Despard.    "You  do  not  object  ?" 

I  spoke  very  ceremoniously.  How  had  she  dared 
couple  my  name  with  Rollis  Lannion's? 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  hear  you,  I'm  sure,"  she 
said,  with  pitying  condescension,  "if  you  care  to 
try."  And  with  the  air  of  a  world-renowned  diva 

181 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

about  to  endure  the  false  notes  of  a  tyro,  she  seated 
herself  in  state  to  listen. 

Upon  my  first  coming  to  Ornith  Farm  I  had  had 
no  heart  for  singing.  I  was  too  newly  caged.  And 
after,  when  I  became  desirous  of  winning  the  good- 
will of  my  innocent  companions,  I  had  instinctively 
refrained  from  entering  into  what  I  felt  sure  would 
be  considered  a  rivalry  by  Mrs.  Despard.  Her  sing- 
ing was  not  popular  with  the  household.  Were  mine 
liked  she  might  be  jealous,  and  I  so  lose  a  friend. 
But  I  was  out  of  sorts  on  that  hot  July  morning, 
and  too  much  absorbed  in  my  wrongs  to  be  able  to 
judge  those  about  me  either  coolly  or  kindly.  I  was 
indignant  with  Mrs.  Despard,  and  quite  careless  as 
to  what  the  result  of  my  singing  might  be.  I  placed 
myself  before  the  chimney-piece,  directly  opposite 
Aileen,  where  she  lay,  flushed  and  anxious,  among 
her  white  draperies.  And  as  I  looked  at  her  sad 
young  face  I  forgot  Mrs.  Despard  and  the  boy.  I 
remembered  only  that  this  suffering  girl  could  alone 
understand  my  feelings  and,  my  eyes  meeting  hers, 
I  sang: 

"  Voi,  che  sapete,  che  cosa  6  1'amor," 

But,  as  always,  before  I  had  finished  the  first  verse, 
I  forgot  both  self  and  audience,  carried  away  by 
the  mere  joy  of  singing — by  the  rhythm  of  the 
music.  And,  thus  launched,  I  swung  from  one  song 
into  another,  following,  unconsciously,  the  train  of 
thought  that  each  brought  with  it.  Presently  I  was 
looking,  not  at  the  young  invalid,  but  up  at  the  fig- 
ure of  the  Christ.  Ah !  He  had  known  suffering — 
"A  man  of  sorrows,  and  acquainted  with  grief." 
But  now  He  was  seated  "on  the  right  hand  of  <God 
the  Father  Almighty." 

And  very  humbly,  my  heart  in  my  voice,  I  sang 
"Angels,  ever  bright  and  fair — "  Then,  my  eyes 

182 


still  upon  that  suffering  face,  I  burst  into  the  Bene- 
dictus : 

"  Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel;  for  he  hath  visited  and 

redeemed  his  people; 
And  hath  raised  up  a  mighty  salvation  for  us," — 

As  with  my  whole  soul  and  strength  I  chanted  the 
last  verse, 

"  That  we  should  be  saved  from  our  enemies,  and  from  the 
hand  of  all  that  hate  us," 

I  became  aware  that  the  door  of  the  room  was  half 
open,  and  that  there  were  people  outside,  in  the  hall, 
listening. 

I  went  back  to  my  chair  beside  Aileen,  and  Mr. 
Lannion  entered  with  Dr.  Despard,  the  latter  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  him.  An  odd  silence  followed. 
Mrs.  Despard,  rigid  and  red-faced,  sat  with  her  lips 
tightly  compressed  as  though  fearing,  were  they  to 
part,  her  tongue  might  run  away  with  her  civility. 
Roddy,  wide-eyed  and  preoccupied,  leaned  against 
the  wall,  absorbed  in  that  dream-world  of  childhood 
which  some  have  never  entered.  Aileen,  her  big 
eyes  moist  with  unshed  tears,  spoke  first,  and  for- 
getting Mrs.  Despard' s  feelings,  burst  into  enthusi- 
astic expressions  of  delight. 

"Yes,  very  lovely,"  Dr.  Despard  acquiesced  po- 
litely, when  her  warm  praise  admitted  of  an  inter- 
ruption. "Miss  Darling's  voice  is  exquisite.  I  am 
sorry  to  have  to  put  a  stop  to  what  gives  us  all  so 
much  pleasure" — he  avoided  looking  at  me  as  he 
spoke — "but  I  must  beg  Miss  Darling  not  to  tax  her 
strength  by  singing  at  present.  She  is — as  yet — 
yery  far  from  strong." 

I  looked  up  and  met  Mr.  Lannion's  eyes.  The 
expression  in  them  stung  me  to  speech. 

183 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"I  am  not  to  ride,"  I  said  slowly,  "and  I  am  not 
to  sing.  What  then,  if  I  may  ask,  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Come  to  the  library,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  an  odd 
inflection  in  his  harsh  voice,  "and  I  will  try  to 
amuse  you." 

"I  am  not  to  ride,"  I  repeated,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  his  words,  "and  I  am  not  to  sing.  Then  the 
newspapers  must  have  said  much  of  the  riding  and 
singing  of  a  certain  Hope  Carmichael!  I " 

"Enough!"  cried  Mr.  Lannion,  interrupting  me 
rudely.  "I  cannot  permit  you  to  speak  in  this  way. 
Come,  I  will  take  you  for  a  stroll.  The  out-door  air 
may  help  to  soothe  your  nerves,"  and  he  advanced 
toward  me. 

I  was  seated  on  the  side  of  the  room  farthest  from 
the  door.  To  reach  me  he  had  to  circle  Aileen's  bed. 
As  he  started  the  door  opened  noiselessly  and  Mr. 
King  entered;  at  the  same  time  Rodgers  left  his 
position — and  his  dreams — and  placed  himself  di- 
rectly in  front  of  me. 

"She  doesn't  want  to  go  with  you,  Uncle  Rollis," 
said  the  child;  "she  wants  to  stay  here  with  us." 

Mr.  Lannion  stopped  short,  staring  down  at  the 
boy.  I  rose  and  laid  my  hands  lightly  on  Roddy's 
well-knit  shoulders. 

"I  am  Mary  Carmichael,"  I  said  clearly,  "called 
— by  my  own  people — Hope.  I  am  not  to  ride  or 
sing  lest " 

"Hush!"  commanded  Mr.  Lannion  sternly.  He 
took  a  step  forward  and  put  out  his  hand  as  though 
to  place  it  upon  my  lips. 

A  very  passion  of  fury  seemed  to  shake  the  boy. 
"Don't  you  touch  her,"  he  cried  in  his  shrill  treble, 
"for  I  won't  stand  it!  You  let  me  off  my  licking 
the  other  day — well,  give  it  to  me  now,  and  let  her 
alone!" 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Mr.  King's  voice  was 

184 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

heard.  He  spoke  softly;  it  was  as  though  he  but 
thought  aloud.  "They  fought  from  heaven,"  he 
murmured,  "the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against 
Sisera." 

Mr.  Lannion  laughed  harshly.  "You  are  mis- 
taken, Rodgers,"  he  said.  "  It  is  I  that  am  punished 
always,  never  Aimee.  She  lashes  me  with  her  rid- 
ing-whip, and  I,  I  bend  my  head — and  kiss  the  rod." 

"Well,  anyway,"  persisted  Roddy,  bewildered  but 
determined,  "you  let  her  alone." 

"And  we  will  change  the  subject,"  I  cried,  with 
mocking  lightness  of  tone.  "Dr.  Despard  shall  tell 
what  this  'outfit'  is  that  he  considers  the  best  in  the 
country." 

Another  silence — broken,  this  time,  by  Mrs.  Des- 
pard. 

"Yes,  you  may  look  at  each  other,"  she  said  tri- 
umphantly, "but  you  won't  catch  us  women  napping, 
I  guess !  Not  that  I  care  about  your  stupid  secrets, 
which  I  know  no  meaning  for  outfits  but  clothes, 
which  I  always  supposed  men  pretended  to  scorn. 
And  as  for  that  poor  child" — with  a  pitying  glance 
at  me — "which  you  won't  let  exercise  anything 
(though  any  doctor  which  is  willing  to  live  in  the 
world" — a  withering  glance  at  Dr.  Despard — "knows 
ridin'  and  singin'  is  first-class  exercise  even  for  deli- 
cate girls),  why,  all  I  can  say  is  if  that's  the  way 
some  folks" — a  sidelong  motion  of  the  eyelid  toward 
Mr.  Lannion — "think  they'll  please,  it's  a  mighty 
queer  way,  to  my  notions." 

"I  think  I  will  go  to  my  room,"  I  said  wearily, 
"if  that  is  permitted " 

"Aimee!"  cried  Mr.  Lannion  reproachfully, 
pleadingly. 

I  patted  the  boy's  cheek.  "Brave  Roddy!"  I 
whispered,  leaning  over  him.  Then,  bowing  slightly 
to  the  others,  I  went  away. 

185 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FAEM 

It  was  a  very  great  disappointment  to  me  that 
neither  Aileen  nor  Mrs.  Despard  had  appeared  star- 
tled, or  even  impressed,  by  my  announcement  of  my 
identity.  But  upon  reflection  I  realized  that  I  had 
simply  said  what  they  had  been  expecting  me  to  say 
every  day  since  my  arrival  at  Ornith  Farm. 

Delcie  was  seated  by  the  window  sewing  when  I 
entered  my  room.  She  looked  up  at  me  anxiously. 

"My  honey-love  seems  real  peeked  and  down  to- 
day," she  said,  putting  aside  her  work  the  better  to 
survey  me.  "Won't  she  promenade  in  the  garden 
a  little?  I  don't  like  to  see  those  sweet  cheeks  so 
pale." 

For  answer  I  flung  myself  face  downward  upon 
the  bed  and  gave  way  to  tears  of  despair.  I  felt 
unable  to  cope  with  my  fate.  Every  one  believed  Mr. 
Lannion,  and  thought  me  mad.  I  doubted  if  Mr. 
King  had  made  any  effort  to  help  me.  He  was  still 
at  Ornith  Farm.  And  the  longer  I  remained  away 
from  home  the  deeper  must  become  the  certainty  that 
I  was  drowned — sucked  under  by  my  hereditary 
enemy,  the  sea.  I  moaned  dully.  My  courage  had 
given  way. 

"Don't,  for  God's  sake,  my  own  little  lady,  my 
sweet  honey-love!"  murmured  Delcie.  She  lifted 
me  in  her  arms,  cradling  me  against  her  tender 
heart. 

"I  wish  that  I  were  dead,  Delcie,"  I  sobbed, 
"dead,  and  with  my  mother!" 

"I'll  call  the  doctor,"  said  Delcie  in  alarm,  and 
she  tried  to  lay  me  down  among  my  pillows. 

I  clung  to  her,  I  would  not  let  her  go. 

"No,  no,"  I  cried  piteously;  "I  want  only  you! 
Dr.  Despard  is  wicked,  wicked!  He  is  doing  me 
a  wrong." 

"Mr.  Lannion,  then?"  suggested  poor  Delcie, 
frightened.  "I'll  bring  him." 

186 


THE   PKISOKEK    OF    OKNITH   FARM 

"I  hate  him !"  I  whispered  fiercely. 

"Dear,  dear,"  remonstrated  Delcie,  "and  he  so 
fond  of  you!  Don't  you  go  and  tell  him  so,  my 
honey-love,"  she  advised  in  low  tones.  "Hate  him 
all  you  want  to  me,  but,  when  in  his  company,  'low 
him  to  surmise  pleasantnesses.  He's  a  nobly  natured 
gentleman,  still — well — "  She  ceased  speaking, 
and  after  a  moment's  silence  whispered  hurriedly: 
"Will  my  sweet  little  lady  try  to  control  her  nervous- 
nesses when  with — Mm  ?"  She  hesitated,  then  plac- 
ing her  lips  close  against  my  ear  she  rather  breathed 
than  whispered,  "Lawsy  me,  child,  do  be  careful — 
'ware  them  wolfish  eyes !"  And  without  waiting  for 
comment,  or  answer,  she  began  to  sing,  trying  to  lull 
me  to  sleep. 

There  came  the  gentlest  of  taps  at  the  door,  the 
merest  apology  for  a  knock,  and  Dr.  Despard  stole 
in.  At  the  first  sound  of  his  coming  I  had  buried 
my  flushed  face  on  Delcie's  shoulder,  and  she  did 
not  cease  her  crooning.  After  a  moment  she  sang 
to  me  that  we  were  again  alone. 

I  remained  in  my  room  all  day,  and  no  one  again 
ventured  near  me. 


187 


XVI 

Because  of  my  keeping  my  room,  poor  Delcie,  too, 
was  a  prisoner.  She  was  glad  when,  at  nine  o'clock, 
I  suggested  going  to  bed.  So  soon  as  I  was  settled  for 
the  night,  she  prepared  her  own  couch — she  slept  on 
the  lounge  in  my  room — and  it  was  not  long  before 
her  peaceful  breathing  told  me  that  she,  at  least,  had 
forgotten  care. 

The  night  was  as  hot  as  the  day  had  been.  Not 
a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  twin  maples. 
Our  windows  were  open,  the  blinds  flung  wide,  yet 
the  thin  curtains  did  not  move.  I  tossed  restlessly 
from  side  to  side ;  I  could  not  sleep.  From  the  veran- 
da below  came  the  subdued  sound  of  voices,  the  scent 
of  tobacco.  By  and  by — for  my  door  stood  ajar — I 
heard  Mrs.  Despard  rustling  up  the  staircase.  The 
clock  in  the  lower  hall  chimed  the  hour — eleven 
o'clock.  I  left  my  bed  and  went  to  the  window. 
The  moon  hung  low  in  the  western  heavens.  In  an- 
other hour  it  would  disappear.  I  thought — with  a 
sickening  pang  of  the  heart — of  a  June  evening  when 
the  moon  swung  low,  and  I  had  taken  the  false  step 
of  my  life. 

I  felt  feverishly  restless.  The  four  walls  of  the 
room,  with  the  shadowy  sevens  of  the  frieze,  seemed 
closing  in  upon  me.  I  would  go  out  and  walk  in 
the  garden,  under  the  open  sky.  If  Delcie  waked 
she  might  go  with  me ;  if  not,  let  Jasper  follow  at  my 
heels.  I  dressed  quickly,  resuming  the  filmy  muslin 
I  had  worn  all  day.  I  put  on  my  belt  with  its  hand- 
some diamond  buckle,  and  slipped  into  place  the 
diamond  incrusted  watch.  Mr.  Lannion  had  not  been 

188 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

niggardly;  the  jewels  were  large  and  fine.  He  had 
even  gone  so  far  as  to  provide  expensive  silver 
buckles  for  my  slippers.  And  the  garden  had  been 
beautified  according  to  my  suggestions.  The  foun- 
tain played,  and  vases  filled  with  flowering  plants 
marked  the  entrance  to  each  path. 

I  left  the  room,  pausing  just  a  moment  to  see  if 
Delcie  still  slept.  Her  comely  dark  face  stood  out 
against  the  snowy  pillow.  She  did  not  move.  The 
upper  hall  was  empty.  The  windows  on  the  staircase 
landing  stood  wide.  The  world  outside  looked  very 
lovely,  illuminated  by  the  low-swung  moon.  There 
was  a  certain  mystery  in  the  absence  of  all  breeze. 
The  trees  and  the  bushes  were  very  silent;  it  was  as 
if  they  were  listening  for  the  return  of  their  play- 
fellow. 

I  looked  over  the  balusters.  Solomon  Jasper — 
as  in  the  morning — was  seated  beneath  the  great 
eagle.  But  this  time  he  was  asleep.  Not  caring  if 
he  waked  or  not,  I  went  on  downstairs  and,  since  I 
did  not  care,  no  board  gave  warning  by  creaking 
beneath  my  football,  nor  did  my  muslins,  rustling 
gently,  betray  me  to  my  guard.  The  door  was  open. 
I  stepped  out  into  the  night.  Then,  with  a  sudden 
fierce  rush  of  excitement,  I  realized  that  the  moment 
had  come  at  last.  This  was  my  chance  to  escape ! 

I  descended  the  steps  cautiously  and  entered  the 
shade  of  the  Norway  spruce  trees  that  stood — tall  and 
sombre — on  the  edge  of  the  gravelled  sweep  before 
the  house.  As  I  crossed  to  them,  each  pebble  seemed 
to  clash  against  its  neighbor;  for  now  that  I  strove 
to  move  noiselessly,  everything  that  I  touched  gave 
forth  a  warning  sound.  From  beneath  the  broad- 
spread  branches  of  the  spruces  I  could  see  the  length 
of  the  avenue  and  the  closed  gate.  Ignorant  of  the 
lie  of  the  land  beyond  the  trimmed  lawns,  I  felt  I 
had  best  follow  the  beaten  track  and,  since  boldness 

189 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

had  brought  me  thus  far,  go  on  by  avenue  and  high- 
way to  the  nearest  dwelling.  I  was  sure  that  any  un- 
biassed person  would  listen  to  my  story  and  give  me 
help. 

Keeping  upon  the  grass,  flitting  swiftly  across  the 
moonlit  spaces  between  the  trees,  I  had  accomplished 
half  the  journey  to  the  gate,  when  a  dark  object  de- 
tached itself  from  a  clump  of  bushes  just  beyond 
me  and  moved  into  the  open.  It  was  Osiris,  the 
larger  of  the  Great  Danes.  I  had  forgotten  the 
dogs. 

Osiris  stretched  himself  and  opened  his  jaws 
wide,  yawning  lazily.  Then  he  lay  down  on  the 
grass  and  began  to  roll  luxuriously  from  side  to  side. 
His  striped  coat  showed  plainly  in  the  moonlight — 
he  looked  very  like  a  tiger.  I  glanced  about  me 
anxiously.  Where  was  Hermes?  Lurking  close 
at  hand,  doubtless.  The  two  ran  together.  Osiris 
was  between  me  and  the  gateway.  I  did  not  go 
forward;  I  was  afraid.  I  had  been  accustomed 
all  my  life  to  the  companionship  of  dogs,  but  Mal- 
vina  had  taught  me  that  some  were  untrustworthy; 
and  Mr.  Lannion's  watchdogs  were  trained  to 
fierceness. 

I  retraced  my  steps  for  a  few  yards  and,  taking 
advantage  of  a  bridge  of  shade,  crossed  the  avenue 
and  crept  behind  a  group  of  shrubs.  If  Hermes  were 
near  Osiris,  the  breadth  of  the  driveway  now  sepa- 
rated me  from  both  dogs,  and  I  might  steal  to  the 
gate  unseen.  I  held  my  breath,  listening.  To  my 
despair,  Osiris  left  the  grass  for  the  road.  He 
stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  avenue,  his  nose  point- 
ing toward  the  house.  Then,  just  beyond  me,  a  black 
shadow  lifted  itself.  Hermes ! 

With  painful  care  I  drew  off  my  slippers  and 
crawled  backward  inch  by  inch.  And  slowly  the 
black  shadow  followed.  As  if  aware  of  his  mate's 

190 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

movements  Osiris  lounged  along  the  avenue,  keeping 
pace  with  us.  The  garden  was  now  my  only  refuge. 
I  neared  it  slowly,  slowly,  but  at  last  its  gate  was 
close  at  hand.  Could  I  but  open  it  unheard  I  might 
hope  to  escape,  not  only  from  the  dogs,  but,  later, 
from  Ornith  Farm  as  well. 

My  fingers  trembled  as  I  lifted  the  latch.  What 
if  it  fell  and  betrayed  me  ?  But  I  accomplished  an 
entrance,  and,  closing  the  gate  softly,  stole  on  into 
the  heavy  shade  of  the  path.  Then  I  stood  still — 
waiting.  The  gate  was  not  too  high  for  the  big  dogs. 
They  could  leap  it  if  they  chose. 

There  came  a  quick  rustle  through  the  bushes,  an 
eager  snuffing  beneath  the  gate.  I  turned  and  fled 
along  the  path.  My  aim  was  to  reach  the  garden's 
centre  and  set.  the  fountain  playing  before  the  dogs 
came  up  with  me.  I  knew  that  to  run  from  them 
would  be  fatal — it  would  but  excite  them  to  the  chase. 
I  hoped  that  the  plashing  fountain  might  serve  as  a 
temporary  barrier;  the  sudden  lift  of  its  waters 
bringing  the  dogs  to  a  standstill,  quieting  their  pur- 
suing rush — if  only  for  a  moment.  The  check  might 
mean  much  to  me. 

Arrived  at  my  goal  I  knelt  and,  dropping  my  slip- 
pers, which  I  still  carried,  hastily  turned  on  the  water. 
As  I  did  so  I  heard  the  dogs,  one  following  the  other, 
plunge  heavily  over  the  gate,  and  before  I  could  circle 
the  basin,  they  had  dashed  into  the  open  space.  Here 
they  halted  abruptly,  crouched,  and — with  low  growls 
stared  at  me.  Their  eyeballs  gleamed  in  the  waning 
moonlight.  I  was  sick  with  terror.  Would  they  tear 
me,  these  wild  beasts  ?  How  long  must  I  stand  wait- 
ing for  them  to  spring  ? 

Then,  scarce  knowing  that  I  did  so,  I  began  to  sing. 
No  hymn  nor  prayer  for  safety  rose  to  my  lips,  but 
the  words  of  the  old  ballad,  the  ballad  of  Mary  Ham- 
ilton: 

191 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKTTH   FAEM 

"When  I  was  a  babe,  and  a  very  little  babe, 

And  stood  at  my  mither's  knee, 
Nay  witch  nor  warlock  did  unfauld 
The  death  I  was  to  dree.*' 

The  huge  Osiris  settled  himself  quietly  down  upon 
the  gravel,  and  dropping  his  great  head  between  his 
paws,  gazed  intently  up  at  me.  But  for  his  tail 
that  twitched  back  and  forth,  like  a  restless  snake, 
he  might  have  been  a  dog  of  stone. 

"  O  a'  ye  mariners,  far  and  near, 

That  sail  ayont  the  sea, 
Let  na  my  father  and  mither  ken 
The  death  I  am  to  dee." 

As  the  minor  cadences  of  the  wild  melody  swung 
upward,  upward,  filling  the  quiet  world  about  us, 
Hermes  seated  himself  upon  his  haunches,  lifted  his 
dark  nose  skyward,  and  accompanied  my  singing 
with  long-drawn  howls  of  sympathy.  I  sank  down 
upon  the  grass,  half  laughing  half  sobbing,  in  the  in- 
tensity of  my  relief,  and  Hermes,  coming  close  to  me, 
put  out  a  long  pink  tongue  and  gently  swabbed  my 
cheek. 

At  the  same  moment  Osiris  spied  one  of  my  slip- 
pers. Its  silver  buckle  glittered  gayly.  He  pounced 
upon  it,  tossed  it  aloft,  then,  giving  way  to  an  out- 
burst of  wild  spirits  that  showed  how  recently  he  had 
outgrown  puppyhood,  he  stiffened  his  long  tail,  laid 
back  his  sharp  ears,  and  galloped  frantically  around 
and  around  the  circle  of  turf  and  fountain.  Hermes 
— Trismegistus — sat  down  beside  me  and  viewed 
his  companion's  youthful  exuberance  of  spirits  with 
benign  tolerance,  while  I,  infected  by  the  young 
dog's  jollity,  clapped  my  hands  and  encouraged  him 
in  his  mad  race. 

In  the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  I  was  almost 

192 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

as  wild  and  gay  as  he.  I  flung  the  slipper  for  him. 
He  seized  it  and  rushed  away  through  the  vegetable 
beds,  disappearing  only  to  reappear,  panting  and 
breathless,  to  drop  his  mangled  toy  before  me  and 
beg  me  to  throw  it  again.  At  last  he  came  back  with- 
out the  slipper;  he  had  lost  what  was  left  of  it  in 
some  dark  corner  of  the  garden.  He  stood  before  me 
and,  with  short  gruff  barks,  demanded  its  mate  for 
prey.  I  laughed  aloud,  delighted  by  his  friendly 
impertinence.  His  eyeballs  shone  like  jewels  in  his 
excitement;  he  bounced  about  on  the  gravel,  now 
wagging  his  tail,  now  holding  it  rigid;  then  made 
playful  but  elephantine  jumps  toward  me,  threat- 
ening to  seize  the  slipper  from  my  uplifted 
hand.  Three  times  I  pretended  to  toss  the  slipper 
from  me ;  to  right,  to  left.  Osiris,  deceived,  dashed 
in  search  of  it,  then  returned  and  scolded  over  my 
duplicity. 

"Then  take  it,  foolish  fellow !"  I  cried,  and  I  flung 
it  straight  before  me  into  the  path  leading  from  the 
gate. 

Osiris  bounded  after  it,  then  crouched  suddenly. 
A  voice  came  from  the  darkness  beyond:  "Well 
thrown!"  and  Mr.  Lannion  emerged  from  beneath 
the  trees. 

The  moon  had  set,  but  the  stars,  glowing  with  a 
splendid  radiance,  illuminated  the  open  spaces 
bravely.  I  saw  that  Mr.  Lannion  held  my  slipper 
in  his  hand.  He  advanced  close  in  front  of  me,  then 
knelt  to  replace  the  dog's  toy.  But  I  drew  back  as 
far  as  possible — till  the  edge  of  the  fountain  was 
close  behind  me,  and  the  spray  from  its  sheaf  of  high- 
tossed  water  touched,  now  and  again,  my  hair. 

"No"  I  said,  "give  the  slipper  to  me."  I  held  out 
my  hand. 

He  rose  slowly.  "You  will  not  put  it  on?"  he 
asked. 

193 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 


" 


One  slipper?"  I  said  carelessly.  "Why,  no,  of 
course  not.  I  should  hobble  absurdly  in  only  one." 

"Where  is  the  other  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Among  your  cabbages,  I  fancy,"  I  answered 
lightly.  "Did  you  hear  Hermes  singing,  M.  Lan- 
nion  ?  Is  that  why  you  are  here  ?" 

"I  came  to  be  with  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "Won't 
you  sit  on  the  bench  for  a  little  ?  It  is  a  beautiful 
night."  He  glanced  up  at  the  stars. 

"How  did  you  know  that  I  was  here?"  I  asked, 
not  responding  to  his  invitation,  but,  turning  from 
him,  holding  out  a  hand  to  catch  the  soft  spray  as  it 
fell. 

"I  saw  you  come  out,"  he  said. 

I  began  to  hum  a  tune,  softly,  very  softly,  keeping 
time  to  the  plash,  plash  of  the  fountain.  The  whole- 
some game  with  the  young  dog  had  steadied  my 
shaken  nerves.  Finding  that  I  had  nothing  to  say, 
Mr.  Lannion  spoke  again. 

"Did  you  imagine  yourself  unseen?"  he  asked. 
I  shrugged  my  shoulders  carelessly,  not  ceasing  my 
crooning  to  the  water's  flow.  "I  was  upon  the  veranda 
when  you  left  the  house,"  he  said. 

I  broke  off  my  thread  of  song.  I  turned  upon  him. 
"You  knew  the  dogs  were  loose  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"You  knew  that  they  were  harmless?"  I  spoke 
sharply. 

"Harmless  to  you?    Yes." 

I  thought  a  moment.  "But  you  hoped,"  I  said 
slowly,  "that  I  might  meet  them  and  be  badly  fright- 
ened?" 

"Not  badly,"  he  said  composedly.  "A  little 
frightened,  perhaps." 

I  laughed  softly,  contemptuously.  "What  a  coward 
you  are  !  "  I  said,  and  turning  again  to  the  fountain 
I  recommenced  my  low  song. 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"A  coward  P  exclaimed  Mr.  Lannion.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  mean."  I  continued  my  singing,  ig- 
noring him  and  his  words.  "I  was,  as  I  said,"  he 
went  on,  finding  that  I  would  not  speak,  "on  the 
veranda  when  you  came  downstairs.  I  suspected  your 
intention.  I  knew  you  thought  it  was  too  early  for 
the  dogs  to  have  been  unleashed.  I  repeat  that,  aware 
that  they  would  not  hurt  you,  I  hoped  they  might 
frighten  you  back  into  your  senses " 

"My  senses  ?"  I  interrupted.  I  gave  him  my  en- 
tire attention  now. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "It  is  time  that  you  realized  your 
position.  It  is  time  you  should  learn  that,  although 
Jasper  sleeps  on  duty,  and  the  dogs  fail  in  theirs, 
you  may  never  hope  to  escape  me.  You  are  mine. 
You  are  to  remain  with  me — always." 

I  was  silent.  The  big  bright  stars  glowed  and 
burned  far  above  us.  The  mystery,  the  beauty  of 
the  summer  night  wrapped  the  garden  close,  close 
as  in  a  shadowy  mantle.  The  flowers  in  the  vases 
exhaled  their  fragrance.  The  silvery  sound  of  the 
plashing  fountain  filled  the  air.  Mr.  Lannion  laid 
his  hand  upon  my  arm. 

"Aimee,"  he  murmured  caressingly,  "Aimee,  my 
darling,  I  love  you.  Won't  you  try  to  give  me  a  little 
affection  in  return?" 

I  drew  aside  so  quickly  that  I  shook  off  the  hated 
touch.  I  leaned  down  and  stroked  the  big  dark  head 
of  the  dog  beside  me. 

"Hermes  sings  better  than  I,  Mr.  Lannion,"  I  said, 
in  tones  of  polite  conversation ;  "I  think  he  deserves 
decoration."  Unpinning  my  belt  I  tied  it  in  the 
dog's  collar.  "Silver  and  diamonds  will  just  suit  his 
dusky  beauty.  Give  me  my  slipper,  please."  Mr. 
Lannion  obeyed.  I  could  not  see  his  expression,  but 
I  knew  that  he  was  watching  me  closely.  "And  now," 
I  continued,  "I  want  a  switch." 

195 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

"What  for  ?"  he  demanded. 

I  did  not  answer.  He  went  to  a  neighboring  tree, 
broke  off  what  I  desired,  and  gave  it  to  me. 

"Please  stop  the  fountain,  Mr.  Lannion."  He 
turned  off  the  water.  "Hermes,"  I  said  confiden- 
tially, "I  am  going  to  sail  a  boat,  and  you  may  look 
on  if  you  wish." 

But  Hermes  did  not  wish.  His  decoration  an- 
noyed him.  In  his  effort  to  rid  himself  of  it,  he 
rolled  over  on  his  back.  I  laughed.  Mr.  Lannion, 
going  to  the  dog's  assistance,  detached  belt  and 
buckle  and  thrust  them  into  his  pocket.  I  mean- 
while was  busy  lading  my  vessel.  This  was  my  re- 
maining slipper,  into  which  I  dropped  my  watch. 
As  I  launched  my  curious  craft  on  the  now  quiet 
waters  of  the  basin,  Mr.  Lannion  remonstrated. 

"If  it  upsets  your  watch  will  be  ruined,"  he 
said. 

"There  are  plenty  of  watches  besides  this  one,"  I 
said  coolly.  "You  can  buy  another,"  and  I  gave  the 
slipper  an  encouraging  poke  with  my  switch.  It 
careened  badly,  and  almost  went  over. 

"Are  you  crazy  ?"  cried  Mr.  Lannion. 

"According  to  you  and  Dr.  Despard — yes,"  I  said, 
and  I  beat  the  water  behind  my  boat  into  a  foam. 

Mr.  Lannion,  kneeling  quickly  beside  me,  caught 
me  about  the  waist  before  I  suspected  his  intention. 

"You  need  a  strait- jacket,"  he  said,  "and  punish- 
ment," and  to  my  terror  his  stern  face  came  close  to 
mine. 

I  struggled.  The  switch,  catching  in  the  slipper, 
upset  it.  The  watch,  its  brilliants  flashing,  sank  to 
the  bottom  of  the  basin.  At  the  same  moment  a 
sharp  sound  cut  through  the  stillness.  Some  one  was 
striking  a  match  close  at  hand. 

"Those  whom  the  gods  would  destroy,"  complained 
a  plaintive  voice,  Mr.  King's  voice,  "they  first  make 

196 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

mad.  I  wanted  to  smoke  in  the  garden.  I  brought 
only  one  match — and  it  has  failed  me!" 

Mr.  Lannion  rose  swiftly. 

"Say,  Lannie,"  continued  Mr.  King,  "are  you 
there?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  gruff  response.  And  Mr.  Lannion, 
taking  off  his  coat,  began  to  roll  up  his  shirt  sleeves. 

"Now  what  on  earth  are  you  up  to?"  exclaimed 
Mr.  King,  coming  forward.  "Have  you  gone  clean 
off  your  head,  Rollis  ?  Of  course  we  all  know  you're 
half-way  there.  What  the  deuce  are  you  after,  any- 
way ?" 

"My  wits,"  replied  Mr.  Lannion  sharply,  "and  the 
child's  watch."  Lying  down  prone  at  the  basin's 
edge,  he  began  to  fish  for  the  lost  treasure. 

"Sir  Isaac  Walton,  the  complete  angler!"  com- 
mented Mr.  King,  peering  through  the  twilight. 
"What  is  yon  dusky  object  I  see  floating  there  ?" 

"Aimee's  slipper,"  said  the  fisherman  gloomily. 
"Just  run  back  to  the  house  and  get  her  another  pair, 
Tom,  will  you?" 

"A  pair?"  demanded  Mr.  King  lazily.  "Why 
burden  myself  with  two,  when  one  is  all  that  is 
needed  ?" 

I  laughed. 

"She  has  allowed  the  dog  to  make  mince-meat  of 
the  other,"  said  Mr.  Lannion  crossly,  still  groping 
for  the  watch. 

"Dear  me!"  murmured  Mr.  King,  "dear  me! 
What  a  bad  little  girl  it  is!  Oh,  you  have  it,  have 
you  ?"  as  Mr.  Lannion  suddenly  withdrew  his  drip- 
ping arms  and  got  up. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt  response,  "and  it  has  stopped. 
I  knew  it  would." 

"That's  awfully  nice,"  said  Mr.  King  with  prompt 
cheerfulness,  "and  I  congratulate  you,  Lannie.  It's 
grand  to  have  one's  prophecies  turn  out  Al,  even  if 

197 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

you  haven't  voiced  'em.  Now,  then,  you  make  a  run 
to  the  house  for  the  child's  slippers,  and  I'll  look  after 
her  till  you  come  back." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  "I  will  stay  here.  You 
go,  and  go  quickly,  please." 

"My  dear  Rollis,"  remonstrated  Mr.  King  in 
deeply  shocked  tones,  "what  are  you  thinking  of? 
You  are  dripping  like  a  water-spaniel!  How  can 
you  sit  by  Miss  Darling,  on  yon  bench,  and  engage  in 
the  dignified  conversation  fitted  for  her  tender  ears 
at  this  hour  of  the  morning  ?" 

"Morning  ?"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  moved  to  the  bench 
and  sat  down  to  wait  for  my  shoes. 

"Yes,  morning,"  said  Mr.  King  impressively ;  "for 
it's  past  twelve  o'clock.  And  you  ought  to  be  in 
bed  and  asleep,  instead  of  sailing  boats  with  Lan- 
nion here.  Come,  Lannion" — he  turned  sharply  upon 
Mr.  Lannion  as  he  spoke,  an  odd  note  of  authority 
in  his  usually  careless  voice — "it's  for  you  to  get  the 
slippers,  and  you  know  it." 

Without  a  word  Mr.  Lannion  disappeared  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  overarching  fruit-trees,  and  pres- 
ently we  heard  the  gate  click  behind  him. 

"We  have  only  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  King,  as  he 
seated  himself  beside  me;  "he  will  make  quick 
time " 


198 


XVII 

This  half  hint  from  Mr.  King  was  enough.  I 
seized  the  opportunity  given  me,  and  told  my  story. 
I  had  not  said  half  what  I  wished,  however,  when 
I  felt  a  warning  touch  upon  my  arm,  and  Mr.  King 
interrupted  me  without  apology. 

"I  thought  you'd  never  guess,"  he  drawled,  in 
tones  lazily  triumphant.  "Well,  it's  a  primrose,  an 
evening  primrose;  more  than  that,  an  American 
evening  primrose.  When  Lannion  comes  back  with 
your  slippers — he  doesn't  fetch  and  carry  very  rap- 
idly; he's  been  gone  an  everlasting  long  time " 

"You  are  not  very  complimentary  to  me,"  I  said, 
responding  to  the  cue  given  me ;  and  I  tried  to  laugh 
— but  failed. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Miss  Darling,"  said  Mr. 
King ;  "I  am  a  stupid  old  sleepy-head,  I'll  own.  But 
the  primrose  is  worth  seeing,  and  when  Lannion 
comes  back " 

A  tall  shadow  stepped  into  the  starlight.  I  won- 
dered how  long  Mr.  Lannion  had  stood  listening 
under  the  trees.  I  was  thankful  that  Mr.  King's 
ears  had  been  sharper  than  mine.  Or  was  it  only 
that  his  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lannion  having 
been  longer,  his  suspicions  were  more  keen? 

"Dear  me,  Rollis,"  he  now  ejaculated,  in  tones  of 
reproachful  surprise,  "how  you  startled  me !  If  I'd 
been  smoking  I  might  have  dropped  my  lighted  cigar 
upon  Miss  Darling's  highly  inflammable  frock,  and 
a  horrible  tragedy  would  have  been  the  result  of 
your  deplorable  habit  of  pouncing  upon  people." 

199 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"I  did  not  pounce,"  growled  Mr.  Lannion.  He 
was  upon  his  knees  putting  on  my  slippers,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  a  very  bad  humor. 

"Perhaps,  now  that  you've  effected  the  pouncing 
act  to  your  entire  satisfaction,"  Mr.  King  contin- 
ued, still  speaking  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "you'll  give 
me  a  light.  I  want  to  smoke,  and  Miss  Darling 
permits." 

"Use  your  own  matches,"  said  Mr.  Lannion 
rudely,  "you  have  a  boxful  in  your  pocket." 

"Rollis !"  exclaimed  Mr.  King,  in  pained  surprise, 
"and  you  heard  me  only  a  few  minutes  ago  cursing 
my  own  forgetfulness  in  the  matter  of  matches.  As 
well  as  I  can  recollect  I  spoke  aloud  in  my  irrita- 
tion. I  even  remember  my  words.  I  said " 

"I  heard  you,"  was  the  curt  comment.  "You 
were  talking  for  effect — as  usual." 

"For  effect — what  effect?"  asked  Mr.  King 
blandly.  So  blandly,  indeed,  that  I  felt  an  odd 
thrill  of  excitement.  My  quiet  Cousin  Sam,  nick- 
named the  Cool,  had  been  wont  to  speak  in  just 
such  tones  before  entering  into  fierce  combat. 

Mr.  Lannion  had  risen  to  his  feet,  having  accom- 
plished his  task.  He  stood  directly  in  front  of  me. 
His  tall,  powerful  figure  seemed  to  dominate  the 
open  space  of  grass  and  fountain,  bringing  a  new 
shadow  to  kill  the  light  of  the  stars.  Mr.  King  got 
up  slowly.  It  was  as  if  he,  too,  felt  overpowered, 
and  resisted  the  unpleasant  sensation. 

"You  always  talk  for  effect,"  said  Mr.  Lannion 
sneeringly;  "it's  the  trick  of  your  trade."  He 
laughed  disagreeably. 

"You  damned  scoundrel!"  said  Mr.  King  softly. 
"It's  because  our  trade  is  the  same  that  you  dare 
speak  like  this " 

"There,  that's  enough!"  cried  Mr.  Lannion 
roughly,  imperiously;  "you  forget  the  presence  of 

200 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

Miss  Darling.  Come  home,  Aimee!"  He  held  out 
his  hand  to  me. 

"Home!"  exclaimed  Mr.  King — his  voice  still 
pitched  in  a  soft,  low  key — "home !  Why,  the  only 
reason  I  don't  try  to  drown  you  now  in  that  foun- 
tain is  because  the  mob  will  lynch  you  later,  on  ac- 
count of " 

"Yes,  yes,  we  all  know  you're  an  immersionist," 
Mr.  Lannion  interrupted,  "but  you  needn't  try  your 
hand  on  me,  Tom.  We  can't  fight,  much  as  you'd 
like  to."  He  laid  his  hand  upon  Mr.  King's  shoul- 
der. "We're  not  the  first  pair  of  friends  who  have 
been  set  at  loggerheads  by  a  woman — such  a  little 
woman,  too !  See,  I'm  sorry  for  what  I  said,  Tom. 
I  beg  your  pardon." 

In  spite  of  the  hearty  ring  of  friendliness  in  his 
voice,  I  believed  that  he  was  not  sorry,  that  he  was 
only  talking  Mr.  King  over.  But  the  latter  shook 
hands  with  him  warmly. 

"I'll  never  forget  the  day  we  met,  Lannion,"  he 
said  heartily,  "nor  what  you  did  for  me  then — 
never." 

"But  you  are  forgetting  the  primrose,  Mr.  King," 
I  said  gently,  "and  your  promise  to  show  it  to  me." 

"No,  indeed,"  was  the  answer,  "I  have  not  for- 
gotten anything.  A  retentive  memory  is  one  of  my 
minor  miseries.  You  won't  mind  coming  along,  will 
you,  Eollis  ?"  turning  to  his  friend.  "It's  just  down 
this  side  path,  and  it  won't  keep  her  up  five  min- 
utes more." 

"I'll  stay  here,"  said  Mr.  Lannion  in  genial  tones, 
"and  smoke  my  pipe.  Run  along  with  Tom,  child, 
and  see  his  primrose."  He  sat  down  on  the  bench, 
then  drawing  a  box  from  his  pocket,  held  it  out  to 
me.  "I  brought  these  for  you,  Aimee ;  I  thought  you 
might  feel  faint."  I  hesitated,  not  offering  to  take 
it  from  him.  "Only  chocolates,"  he  said,  with  an 

201 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

odd  laugh ;  "you  may  eat  fearlessly.  You  forget  that 
pomegranates  do  not  grow  in  my  garden." 

"Pomegranates  ?"  said  Mr.  King  inquiringly,  as  I 
accepted  the  box.  "Oh,  yes,  I  remember: 

" ' — the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart; 
The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain, 
That  grasps  at  the  fruitage  forbiddenj 
The  golden  pomegranates ' 

and  so  on !  If  you're  ready,  Miss — Aimee,  the  prim- 
rose waits." 

Mr.  Lannion  rose  abruptly.  "I  have  changed  my 
mind,"  he  said ;  "I  am  coming,  too." 

Mr.  King,  making  no  comment,  led  the  way  down 
the  side  path  nearest  us.  As  I  followed  I  began  to 
eat  the  bonbons.  I  was  faint.  I  hoped  that  I  might 
not  break  down  and  cry.  I  felt  so  terribly  alone. 
My  reckless  courage  of  the  early  night  had  fled.  I 
had  only  one  desire:  to  hurry  back  into  my  own 
room,  to  be  under  the  wing  of  my  patient  maid  once 
more.  But  I  was  anxious  that  Mr.  Lannion  should 
not  suspect  my  terrors.  So  I  munched  the  choco- 
lates, and  hoped  for  sufficient  strength  to  fight  down 
the  hysterical  choke  in  my  throat 

"Hush !"  cautioned  Mr.  King,  coming  to  a  stand- 
still. "There  is  a  big  white  moth  fluttering  toward 
it.  See!" 

I  moved  noiselessly  to  his  side. 

Just  beyond  us,  under  the  starlight,  I  saw  a  stately 
plant  whose  flowers  —  great  bell-shaped  globes  of 
palest  gold — attracted  the  snowy  moth  as  surely  as 
though  they  had  been  not  fairy  lamps  but  real  ones. 
Fascinated,  enraptured,  I  forgot  myself  in  my  child- 
ish delight  over  this  candelabra  of  blossoms  till  Mr. 
Lannion's  harsh  voice  broke  the  spell. 

"Despard  would  like  that  moth  to  add  to  his  col- 
lection," he  said.  "I  forget  its  name,  but  it  is  a 

202 


THE   PKISONEK   OF   OKNITH   FAKM 

rare  one.    How  big  it  is !     It's  a  pity  he's  not  here. 
I  might  catch  it  for  him." 

"No,"  I  said  imperiously.  "No — I  wish  you 
would  go  back  to  the  bench  and  not  spoil  my  pleas- 
ure, Mr.  Lannion."  I  ended  with  a  half  sob. 

"What  have  I  done?"  he  asked  anxiously,  stoop- 
ing over  me. 

"I  saw  a  toad  kill  a  moth  like  that  once,"  Mr. 
King  observed  in  tones  purely  conversational.  "It 
was  a  sickening  sight." 

"Why  did  you  let  it?"  I  demanded. 

"Couldn't  help  myself,"  he  drawled  composedly. 
"It  was  in  another  boy's  backyard — and  he  was 
the  biggest." 

"You  might  have  tried  to  help  the  poor  moth,"  I 
insisted,  still  struggling  with  the  choke  in  my  throat, 
"you  might  at  least  have  tried,  Mr.  King." 

"I  did  try,"  was  the  calm  response.  "If  the  other 
chap  still  lives  he  bears  the  marks  of  my  youthful 
and  infrequent  teeth  upon  his  bold  right  hand." 

"Have  you  seen  enough,  Aimee  ?"  asked  Mr.  Lan- 
nion. He  spoke  almost  timidly.  "It  is  very  late. 
You  can  come  out  to-morrow  evening  and  look  at  the 
primroses  by  moonlight.  I  will  bring  you.  Won't 
you  come  back  to  the  house  now?"  I  noticed  that 
he  avoided  the  word  home. 

As  we  mounted  the  steps  I  stopped  for  an  instant 
to  look  up  at  the  stars.  Mr.  King  sighed. 

"Ornith  Farm,"  he  said  meditatively,  "such  a 
pretty  name !  And  such  an  infinite  variety  of  birds 
have  alighted  here — 'Birds  of  a  feather  flock  to- 
gether' !  Quaint  old  saying !" 

I  laughed  drearily.  "Ornith  Farm!"  I  repeated, 
waving  my  hand  to  right  and  left,  indicating  its 
broad  stretch  of  acres;  "shall  we  dub  the  house 
Mr.  Lannion's  Aviary — or  simply  call  it  Lannion's 
Cage?" 

203 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  I  ran  quickly  into 
the  hall  and  up  to  my  room.  The  little  room  was 
very  dim  and  shadowy.  It  was  only  after  I  had 
sat  some  time  upon  my  bed,  fighting  down  the  sobs 
that  strove  to  master  me,  that  I  could  distinguish, 
across  the  room,  Delcie's  dark  face  outlined  against 
the  white  pillow.  She  slumbered  peacefully,  unaware 
of  my  desertion.  But  it  was  long  before  sleep  brought 
oblivion  to  me. 


204 


XVIII 

It  was  not  until  ten  the  next  morning  that  I  went 
to  my  accustomed  seat  under  the  maples.  I  had  slept 
late.  Hardly  had  I  settled  myself  and  begun  list- 
lessly to  hem  the  strip  of  muslin  upon  which — under 
Delcie's  tuition — I  was  to  learn  to  sew  (that  part 
of  my  education  having  been  neglected)  when  Roddy 
came  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  He  ran  to  me 
and,  leaning  familiarly  against  my  knee,  began 
eagerly  to  relate  the  latest  household  events. 

"Say,  what  do  you  s'pose?  Mother's  in  the 
kitchen  makin'  gingersnaps !  She  and  Zayma  had  it 
hot  and  heavy  first" — he  giggled  rapturously — "you 
just  ought  to  have  heard  'em  go  it !  Zayma  said  she 
shouldn't  —  sassed  mother  fearful  —  but  mother 
walked  into  her,  hammer  and  tongs.  Ebenezer"  (the 
old  black  cat)  "was  so  scared  he  climbed  up  on  the 
clock  shelf.  When  he  got  there  he  was  'fraid  he'd 
fall  off,  an'  'fraid  to  climb  down.  So  he  hung  on 
and  hollered."  The  child  laughed  out,  overcome  by 
the  comicality  of  his  remembrance. 

"And  you  helped  him  down  ?"  I  asked,  smiling  in 
sympathy. 

"So,  I  didn't,"  was  the  energetic  response.  "He's 
a  cruel  old  beast,  Ebenezer  is;  I  was  glad  he  was 
most  frightened  to  death.  I  jumped  at  him,  to  scare 
him  more." 

"Oh,  Roddy!"  I  exclaimed  in  remonstrance. 

"Well,"  insisted  the  child,  "I  did,  and  served  him 
right.  I've  seen  him  do  beastly  mean  things,  that 
old  cat !  I  hate  him.  But  I  won't  tell  you  what  I've 
seen.  You're  so  soft  you'd  cry ;  but  there,  you  can't 

205 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

help  it,  girls  are  made  that  way.  Say,"  in  another 
burst  of  confidence,  "you  just  ought  to  have  heard 
mother  when  old  Ebenezer  began  to  howl!  She 
lammed  into  Zayma  harder  than  ever.  'See  your  own 
cat/  she  said  awful  loud,  'even  that  unfortunate 
creature  knows  and  fears  your  wickedness!  But 
I  ain't  afraid  of  you,  Zayma  Jasper,  and  I'll  learn 
you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head.'  Then" — 
Roddy  spoke  slowly  and  reflectively — "then  she 
caught  sight  of  me " 

"Yes  ?"  I  said  encouragingly. 

He  grinned  impishly.  "Oh,  nothin',"  he  said  in- 
differently, "only  I  quit." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  Roddy 
spoke  again.  "Don't  you  like  cake  ?"  he  asked. 

"Pretty  well,"  I  said. 

"Mother  says,"  he  continued,  "that  you  haven't  any 
sweet  tooth."  I  smiled.  "Pop  says  that  she  doesn't 
know  anything  about  what  you've  got  or  what  you 
haven't.  Tom  says —  Say,  did  you  know  Tom  had 
gone  away?" 

"No,"  I  said  quickly.    "For  how  long  ?" 

"One  week,  maybe  two,"  was  the  answer.  "You 
like  Tom  as  much  as  I  do,  I  guess."  Roddy  spoke 
approvingly.  I  nodded.  I  wondered  what  Mr. 
King  had  gone  for.  Could  it  be  to  find  out  if  I  were 
really  Hope  Carmichael?  My  heart  began  to  beat. 
"There,"  exclaimed  Roddy,  "you've  pricked  your- 
self! I  knew  you  would,  your  fingers  tremble  so. 
Here,  take  my  handkerchief — oh,"  after  a  hasty 
search  through  several  overcrowded  pockets,  "I 
haven't  any!" 

"Never  mind,"  I  said  hastily,  "it's  really  nothing, 
Roddy.  Fancy  my  minding  a  tiny  prick  like  that! 
What  did  Mr.  King  say  ?" 

"About  what?     Oh,  I  know,  about  your  eating. 

But  he  said  I  wasn't  to  tell " 

206 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

"Then  you  must  not,"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,  but  'twas  only  Uncle  Rollis  and  Pop  who 
weren't  to  hear.  Tom  doesn't  like  Uncle  Rollis  and 
Pop.  I  wonder  why?  Tom  thinks  a  heap  of  you. 
He  says  you're  clean  grit  all  through.  Tom  says 
you  eat  as  if  you  was  in  training.  That  means" — 
in  kindly  if  condescending  explanation — "trainin' 
for  a  race  or  something.  Men,  athletes,  Tom  says, 
eat  awful  careful  when  they're  going  in  for  a  race. 
It's  muscle,  not  fat,  they're  after,  Tom  says.  He 
says  you're  made  of  muscle — is  that  so?"  And  the 
child  stared  at  me  questioningly. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  story,  a  fairy  story  ?"  I  asked. 
I  rose  and  went  to  the  hammock. 

"Yes,"  cried  Roddy  delightedly,  crawling  in  to 
lie  down  beside  me,  "and  that  will  help  me  to  wait 
for  the  gingersnaps.  It'll  be  an  awful  long  time  be- 
fore they're  done." 

It  was  a  long  time.  Roddy  and  I  had  exhausted 
fairy  tales  and  many  other  amusements,  and  had 
taken  to  building  card  houses  when  Mrs.  Despard, 
deeply  flushed,  but  with  an  air  of  triumphant  dignity, 
emerged  from  the  house.  She  carried  a  plate  heaped 
high  with  the  crisp  cookies  that  Roddy  loved. 
Coming  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  she  stood  and 
stared  down  at  me  as  I  carefully  adjusted  a  king  of 
spades,  serving  as  roof  to  the  last  house  the  child  had 
been  building. 

Roddy  hopped  up  directly  and  began  to  help  him- 
self liberally. 

"Shame,  for  shame,  Roddy!"  cried  his  mother  in 
shocked  remonstrance.  "What  will  Miss  Darling 
think  of  you,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Ladies  first,  always." 

"I'm  getting  them  for  her,"  said  Rodgers  quickly, 
dropping  his  handful  into  my  lap.  "You'll  eat  'em, 
won't  you,  Aimee?"  he  asked  in  coaxing  tones. 

To  please  the  child  I  accepted  one,  returning  the 

207 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

others.  Mrs.  Despard  looked  on,  an  odd  expression 
in  her  hard  eyes. 

"I've  found  out  about  the  outfit,"  she  said  at  last. 
"I  just  went  upstairs  with  these  snaps,  and  would 
have  walked  in  where  they  was  without  knocking 
(which  I  knew  any  kind  of  hot  ginger-bread  is  al- 
ways welcome  to  every  creature  wearing  pants)  only 
Loo  Despard  and  Tom  King  met  me  at  the  top  and 
told  me  all.  Which  the  love  of  cookies  loosened  their 
tongues,  the  road  to  a  man's  heart  bein'  through  his 
stummick."  She  nodded  her  head  several  times. 
"What  do  you  think  it  is?  The  outfit,  I  mean. 
Nothin'  in  the  world  but  writing  and  printing  stuff ! 
Yes,  you  may  believe  me  or  not  as  you  choose,  Miss 
Darling" — she  spoke  impressively — "Rollis  Lannion 
has  wrote  a  book,  and  these  men,  which  you  saw 
them  when  they  came,  are  copying  it  out  for  him ! 
And  I  will  say"  (flushing  still  more  deeply  in  sud- 
den recollection)  "that  for  all  impudent  darkies  that 
Zayma  is  the  worst!  I  obliged,  yes,  obliged  her  to 
leave  the  kitchen,  and  where  do  you  suppose  she  went  ? 
Up  to  the  third  story,  if  you  please!  What  for? 
I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine,  but  I  guess  it  was  to  try 
an'  make  the  doctor  come  down  and  stop  me  makin' 
these  snaps — which  I  just  guessed  Loo  Despard 
laughed  at  her  for  her  pains !  Anyway,  she  looked 
sneaky  enough  when  I  met  her.  How  Rollis  Lan- 
nion can  put  up  with  her  and  that  great  hulking 
Solomon  Jasper,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Well,  do 
you  like  the  snap,  child?  Not  too  much  ginger, 
no?" 

I  said  what  was  quite  true,  that  the  little  cake 
was  delicious.  Mrs.  Despard  beamed  with  satisfac- 
tion, and  told  Roddy  to  bring  her  a  chair  as  she 
wished  to  talk  to  me. 

"Run  and  play,  sonny-boy,"  she  said,  as  she  seated 
herself  in  the  big  chair  he  dragged  forward.  "It's 

208 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

my  turn  to  talk  to  your  Grace  Darling  now.  That's 
what  he  calls  you,  my  dear" — Roddy  blushed  crim- 
son— "you're  his  sweet  girl,  or  Grace  Darling,  al- 
ways. And" — speaking  with  pompous  kindliness — 
"I  tell  him  to  be  polite  and  nice  to  you,  to  behave 
like " 

Here  Roddy  interrupted  rudely.  "I'd  do  that 
anyway,"  he  cried  defiantly.  "She's  used  to  boys, 
Aimee  is,  and  she  misses  her  cousins  dreadfully. 
Wild  Will,  and  Sam  the  Cool — twins  they  are — and 
jolly  Lord  Ronald,  and " 

"Rodgers  Despard,"  cried  Mrs.  Despard  shrilly, 
getting  up  in  her  excitement,  "hush  this  minute ! 
How  dare  you  talk  like  that  when  you  know  your 
Uncle  Rollis  would " 

"He  isn't  my  uncle,"  said  Roddy,  breaking  reck- 
lessly in  upon  her  reproof,  "and  you  know  it.  And 
I  hate  him,  yes,  I  do !  And  I  wish  Pop  did,  an'  then 
we  could  leave  this  nasty  old  place ;  and  you  wish  so, 
too,  and  you  know  you  do,  and  it's  mean,  yes,  mean, 
and — and " 

The  child  broke  down.  He  began  to  cry  and, 
ashamed  of  what  he  considered  an  unmanly  weakness, 
ran  hastily  away.  His  mother,  pale  and  disturbed, 
sank  down  into  her  chair  again  and  stared  helplessly 
at  me. 

"Please  don't  be  angry  with  Roddy,"  I  said,  lean- 
ing across  the  card  village  and  lowering  my  voice; 
"he  has  been  so  good  to  me;  such  a  great  comfort, 
Mrs.  Despard." 

"Rollis  Lannion  would  beat  him  if  he  knew  what 
the  boy  had  said,"  she  whispered,  glancing  fearfully 
around. 

"No  one  has  heard,"  I  urged.  "No  one  can  have. 
See,  Delcie  went  away  when  you  came." 

"Yes,  yes,"  was  the  anxious  answer,  "but  the  walls 

have  ears,  and  Rollis  Lannion " 

209 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  interrupted  her  quickly.  "Never  mind  about 
him  now,  dear  Mrs.  Despard,"  I  said,  still  speaking 
very  softly ;  "but  please  let  me  tell  you  my  story  just 
this  once." 

"No,  no,"  she  insisted;  she  looked  very  much 
frightened ;  "I  know  your  story  already,  and  it's  bad 
for  you  talking  wild  like  you  want  to.  And  the 
doctor  says  you're  not  to  do  it.  Of  course  it  does 
seem  strange  to  me,  I  will  admit,  R.  L.'s  bein'  so  set 
on  marryin'  you  after  getting  the  mitten  from  your 
mother — which  he  must  have  been  a  mere  boy  when 
it  happened,  and  she  preferring  Mr.  Darling,  and 
no  wonder,  him  bein'  rich  an'  suitable  as  to  age,  while 
Rollis  Lannion — hush!"  She  ceased  speaking  and 
glanced  fearfully  toward  the  open  door.  "Did  you 
hear  anything?" 

I  listened  intently.  A  soft  south  wind  sighed 
gently  as  it  moved  through  the  branches  of  the  maples 
overhead,  but  all  else  was  still. 

"It  seems  odd,"  I  said,  forcing  myself  to  speak 
meditatively,  "very  odd  that  Mr.  Lannion  insists 
upon  my  remaining  here."  Mrs.  Despard  gave  me 
her  entire,  if  fearful,  attention.  "I  wish  that — 
since  he  and  Dr.  Despard  think  me  insane — "  (Mrs. 
Despard  started  involuntarily  at  this  blunt  statement, 
but,  moved  by  curiosity  and,  I  hope,  some  kinder 
feeling,  let  me  continue)  "that  they  would  send  me 
to  some  large  sanitarium.  Or,  better  still,  to  a  public 
asylum." 

"Why  ?"  burst  out  Mrs.  Despard,  unable  to  control 
her  inquisitiveness  longer. 

"If  a  girl  thinking  herself  Hope  Carmichael,  and 
looking  exactly  like  her,  were  taken  to  any  large 
asylum  for  the  insane,"  I  said  slowly,  "I  think  some 
one  there  would  be  moved  to  investigate.  I  think 
some  one  might  be  willing  to  write  to  her  friends; 
to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  or  to  her  fiance,  Mr. 

210 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Max  Errol,  and  tell  of  the  poor  girl's — shall  we  say 
hallucination  ?" 

"Well,  well,  what  for?"  demanded  Mrs.  Despard. 

"Let  us  say  just  to  comfort  me,  Mrs.  Despard," 
I  whispered.  "What  harm  would  it  do  me  to  see 
these  people  that  I  believe  to  be  my  own  people? 
Do  you  think  that  they  would  refuse  to  give  me  this 
consolation,  Mrs.  Despard?  If  any  unfortunate 
creature  believed  that  you  were  her  nearest  of  kin, 
would  you  refuse  to  go  to  her — just  once  ?  If  you 
had  lost  a  niece  who  had  been  as  a  daughter  to  you, 
would  you " 

Mrs.  Despard  rose  abruptly.  She  had  grown  very 
pale.  She  walked  away  to  the  western  end  of  the 
veranda,  and  stood  for  some  time  gazing  at  the  wide- 
spread prospect.  The  great  stretch  of  woodland  and 
meadows,  and  far  in  the  distance  the  Hudson,  look- 
ing, as  always  from  Ornith  Farm,  like  a  slender,  un- 
sheathed sword.  Presently  I  stole  after  her  and 
laying  my  hand  lightly  upon  her  arm,  pressed  my 
cause. 

"A  little  letter  to  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  I  urged — I 
was  careful  to  speak  gently — "or  a  few  lines  to  Mr. 
Errol,  Mrs.  Despard.  You  would  harm  no  one,  and 
think  what  you  would  be  doing  for  me !"  She  turned 
and  looked  at  me  steadily.  I  answered  the  question 
in  her  eyes.  "Yes,"  I  said  slowly,  "if  the  Car- 
michaels  and  the  Errols  agree  with  your  husband 
and  Mr.  Lannion,  and  think  me  insane,  then  I,  too, 
will  believe  it.  Does  it  ever  seem  strange  to  you,  Mrs. 
Despard,  that  Mr.  Lannion  should  wish  to  marry  an 
insane  girl?" 

"My  goodness !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  never  thought 
of  it,  but  now  that  you  put  it  plain — "  She  stopped 
speaking,  she  was  even  paler  than  before.  She 
pressed  her  lips  together  tightly,  she  had  the  look  of 
one  who  faces  a  difficult  step.  "If  I  thought  even 

211 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

for  one  moment,"  she  began,  and  she  tossed  her  head 
defiantly;  "but  no,  it  can't  be.  Why,  child,  they 
wouldn't  dare !  It's  just  your  imagination,  just 

"Then  what  harm  would  it  do  to  write?"  I  per- 
sisted. "A  letter  could  do  no  harm.  I  only  ask  for 
fair  play,  Mrs.  Despard.  Just  a  few  lines  to  those 
I  believe  to  be  my  relations,  just  three  words  asking 
them  to  come." 

"You've  been  awful  good  to  my  Roddy,"  said  Mrs. 
Despard,  as  if  in  argument;  "you've  made  a  differ- 
ent boy  of  him,  I'll  say  that.  Always  cheerful  an' 
ready  to  play  with  the  child,  never  mind  how  low 
your  spirits  may  be,  which  is  somethin'  I've  noticed 
an'  so's  Aileen;  she  was  speaking  of  it  only  this 
morning,  while  as  for  Tom  King,  which  is  devoted 
to  Rodgers,  'Roddy's  got  a  playfellow  now,'  says 
Tom,  only  a  few  mornings  back,  'which  never  tires !' 
And,  as  you  say,  a  letter — oh,  here  you  are,  Delcie- 
vere,"  as  Delcie  came  out  again  upon  the  veranda. 
"Have  you  tasted  my  snaps  ?  No  ?  Well,  Roddy's 
left  quite  a  few  on  this  plate ;  just  help  yourself,  will 
you  ?  I'm  due  upstairs  now." 

She  went  away  without  looking  toward  me.  Had 
I  made  my  appeal  in  vain? 

"If  Mrs.  Despard's  mind  was  as  sizable  as  her 
heart,"  commented  Delcie,  as  she  munched  a  crisp 
snap  with  strong  white  teeth,  "and  if  she  was  without 
such  a  superfluity  of  temper " 

"If — if — if!"  I  cried,  nodding  with  assumed 
gayety  at  my  comely  maid.  "Who  is  perfect,  please, 
Delcievere  ?" 

"Not  the  two  that  came  as  visitors  yesterday,  my 
Honey-love,"  she  answered  promptly.  "Just  two 
common  low-down  men.  Individuals,  not  gentlemen. 
Lawsy  me,  no !" 


212 


XIX 

Upon  my  first  coining  to  Ornith  Farm  I  was 
pleased  that  my  wish  to  take  my  meals  by  myself 
had  been  so  readily  complied  with.  After  the  ar- 
rival of  the  two  visitors,  however,  I  regretted  this, 
since  it  prevented  my  having  any  opportunity  of  be- 
coming acquainted  with  them.  And  in  every  new 
face  I  might  hope  to  find  understanding  and  pity. 
The  two  men  were,  as  Delcie  had  said,  unattractive 
in  appearance  and  manners.  The  elder — a  man 
of  middle  age — hardly  looked  my  way  when  we 
chanced  to  meet  in  the  halls  or  on  the  staircase ;  the 
other,  a  flashily  dressed  youth,  glanced  furtively  at 
me  with  a  greedy  curiosity  most  unpleasant  to  my 
pride.  They  never  came  upon  the  veranda  when  I 
was  there,  but  sat  upon  the  steps  at  the  entrance, 
or  smoked  their  cigars  in  the  stables.  They  spent 
most  of  their  time  in  the  third  story. 

Desirous  of  leaving  no  stone  unturned,  realizing 
that  help  might  come  from  the  most  unlikely  quar- 
ter, I  now  suggested  taking  my  meals  with  the  fam- 
ily. Dr.  Despard  vetoed  this  at  once.  He  said  that 
he  considered  it  much  wiser  for  me  to  avoid — when 
possible — all  intercourse  with  strangers;  conversa- 
tion with  other  than  intimate  friends  might  prove 
injuriously  exciting.  Mrs.  Despard  was  present 
when  her  husband  thus  gave  his  professional  opin- 
ion. She  stared,  but  made  no  comment.  I  would 
have  given  much  to  know  if  she  had  written  to 
my  people.  Had  she  done  so  my  captivity  could 
last  only  a  few  days  longer.  This  knowledge  kept 
me  in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement  hard  to  conceal. 

213 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

On  Friday  morning  when — had  the  letter  gone — 
I  might  expect  something  to  happen,  I  was  too  rest- 
less to  remain  in  one  place  many  minutes  at  a  time. 
The  day  was  gloomy;  the  sky  overcast,  and  an  east 
wind  keening.  A  disagreeable  chill  was  in  the  air; 
and  although  the  thermometer  told  us  that  it  was 
July,  this  odd  chill  made  itself  felt,  seeming  to 
underlie  the  heat.  The  women  in  the  house  were  as 
little  at  ease  as  I.  Aileen  was  worried  because  her 
husband's  weekly  letter  had  not  come;  Mrs.  Des- 
pard  avoided  being  alone  with  me,  and  Delcie  had 
had  bad  news  from  home.  Her  mother  was  very  ill. 
I  decided  to  try  if  I  could  distract  my  mind  by 
reading  and,  after  being  assured  by  Delcie  that  Mr. 
Lannion  was  out,  I  went  to  the  library  in  search  of 
a  book. 

The  lower  hall  was  empty,  and  I  closed  the  door 
of  the  library  behind  me,  thankful  to  be  free  from 
open  espionage  if  only  for  an  hour.  This  apparent 
freedom  was  mine  because  the  gardener  was  busy 
cutting  the  grass  within  sight  of  the  windows.  Al- 
though these  were  closed  on  account  of  the  damp- 
ness, I  could  hear  the  locust-like  br-r-r  of  his  lawn- 
mower  as  he  moved  to  and  fro. 

The  room,  always  gloomy,  was  doubly  so  because 
of  the  darkening  skies.  As  I  stood  for  a  moment 
by  one  of  the  tall  windows  the  rain  began  tap,  tap, 
tap  against  the  pane.  Each  drop  was  as  a  little 
hammer  against  my  heart,  driving  in  deeper,  with 
every  dull  thud,  the  nails  of  despair  that  were  be- 
ginning to  corrode  it.  I  turned  away  determinately. 
Let  me  battle  against  weakness  unworthy  of  my  up- 
bringing. I  must  try  to  behave  always  as  Katie, 
the  boys — Max,  would  have  me.  I  looked  about  the 
room  remembering  my  errand. 

Those  who  had  already  visited  the  library  that 
morning  had  left  a  slight  disorder  behind  them. 

214 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

The  big  table,  disencumbered  of  inkstand,  bookrack, 
and  its  usual  furnishings,  was  covered  with  open 
maps.  Oddly  enough  they  shaped — as  they  lay — the 
number  seven.  Upon  them,  as  if  its  reader,  hastily 
summoned,  had  expected  to  return  immediately,  was 
placed  a  book  showing  a  narrow  edge  of  blue  cover 
around  the  open  page.  Leaning  idly  upon  the  table 
to  read  its  title,  I  was  surprised  to  find  myself  face 
to  face  with  a  well-loved  old  friend.  Tears  blurred 
my  eyes  as  I  looked,  brought  by  memories  of  my 
happy  childhood  when  my  nurse  had  read  aloud 
from  this  book  until  I  knew  all  its  wisdom  by  heart. 
Roddy  must  have  left  it  on  the  table,  I  thought. 
Who  else  in  this  house  full  of  grown  men  and  women 
would  care  to  read  "Tanglewood  Tales" !  The  book 
lay  open  in  a  way  that  proved  it  often  read.  This 
must  be  a  favorite  story.  I  glanced  at  the  top  of 
the  page* 

"The  Pomegranate  Seeds." 

Then  the  hot  color  surged  into  my  face,  for  I  saw 
that  the  book  was  open  where  Pluto  makes  his  ap- 
peal to  the  child,  Proserpina,  and  the  following  lines 
were  marked: 

"She  ran  back  to  him,  and,  for  the  first  time  in 
all  her  life,  put  her  small,  soft  hand  in  his. 

"  'I  love  you  a  little/  whispered  she,  looking  up  in 
his  face." 

Outraged,  indignant,  I  caught  up  this  witness  of 
my  jailer's  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  patience,  anxious 
to  place  it  where  none  else  might  read.  The  next 
moment  I  had  swung  myself  up  on  the  broad  table, 
just  in  time  to  avoid  the  furious  onslaught  of  Mal- 
vina,  who,  unseen  by  me,  had  lain  hidden  but  on 
guard.  I  spoke  quickly,  sternly,  to  her,  thinking  she 
had  but  to  recognize  me  to  realize  her  mistake.  She 
backed  steadily  until  a  sufficient  distance  was  be- 

215 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

tween  her  and  the  table,  then  crouched — and 
sprang ! 

Knowing  now  her  intent  I  made  no  useless  effort 
to  soothe  her  into  quiet,  but  bracing  myself,  I  struck 
her  as  she  came  within  reach  with  the  volume  that 
I  still  held  in  my  hand.  The  blow  caught  her  on 
the  side  of  her  head;  she  swerved  and  dropped  to 
the  floor.  But  again,  silently,  her  pale,  pink-rimmed 
eyes  fixed  upon  me,  she  retreated,  and,  the  necessary 
distance  attained,  made  another  attempt  to  reach  me. 

The  book,  my  sole  weapon,  was  neither  large  nor 
heavy.  As  I  once  more  struck  her,  and  again  was 
successful — breaking  the  force  of  her  spring  and 
causing  her  to  fall  short  of  the  table — I  felt  her 
teeth  against  my  fingers.  I  was  keenly  conscious  of 
my  danger,  yet  I  dared  not  waste  strength  in  out- 
cries for  help.  The  dog  was  almost  as  silent  as  I. 
Save  for  a  low,  smothered  sound  in  her  throat,  more 
a  sharp  panting  than  an  articulate  growl,  she  re- 
peated with  a  horrible  patience  of  endeavor,  her  ef- 
fort to  gain  my  stronghold  and  fasten  her  teeth  in 
my  throat.  As  the  time  passed  her  eyes  became 
bloodshot;  flakes  of  foam  showed  upon  her  pink, 
black-lined  jaws.  She  never  hurried,  never  lost  her 
power  to  calculate  to  an  inch  the  length  of  the  jump 
required.  Her  rage  of  hatred  was  as  cold  as  it  was 
deadly.  What  if  my  strength  should  fail ! 

The  rain  still  kept  up  its  monotonous  tapping  at 
the  window.  The  sound  of  the  lawn-mower  came 
from  a  distance;  the  edge  of  the  lawn  must  have 
been  reached.  I  listened  as  I  watched  the  dog — a 
wild  beast  now,  in  her  blood  thirst — hoping  to  hear 
some  one  in  the  hall.  But  the  silence  was  profound. 

In  her  desire  to  gain  a  better  vantage-point  for 

attack,  the  dog  had  edged  little  by  little  around  the 

table.    Soon  she  was  between  me  and  the  big  mirror 

behind  which  the  door,  leading  into  the  parlor,  was 

216 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

hidden.  Because  of  this  I  found  myself  in  greater 
stress.  For  now  I  seemed  to  be  warding  off  two 
dogs,  since  the  broad  sheet  of  glass  reflected,  with 
cruel  clearness,  the  strange  scene.  I  strove  to  keep 
my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  real  dog,  but,  in  spite  of 
every  effort,  I  caught  distracting  nightmare  glimpses 
of  the  two  figures  in  the  mirror;  Malvina's  double, 
and  my  own.  The  girl,  her  face  as  colorless  as  her 
fluttering  muslins,  kneeling  upon  the  map-strewn 
table,  and  the  crouching  foam-flecked  dog.  This 
dizzying  reflection  made  me  ever  fear  to  miss  my 
stroke.  My  fingers,  and  the  dog's  jaws,  were  bleed- 
ing. If  I  should  fail 

I  struck  again  and  yet  again.  I  could  no  longer 
listen  for  approaching  footsteps;  in  my  ears  there 
was  now  the  sound  as  of  a  hundred  trip-hammers. 
I  wondered  how  much  longer  I  might  depend  upon 
seeing  clearly.  A  mist  seemed  coming  before  my 
eyes.  Ah!  my  hand  slipped.  The  dog's  teeth  fas- 
tened in  my  frock.  I  struck  at  her  blindly,  unceas- 
ingly. I  cried  out  in  loathing  at  her  touch — the  end 
had  come — but  I  would  not  give  up — never — 
never 

Suddenly  she  was  seized,  wrenched  away  from  me. 
There  was  the  rasp  of  tearing  muslin,  a  heavy  thud, 
the  sound  of  a  door  hastily  closed. 

I  sank  down  upon  the  table  too  much  exhausted 
to  move,  and  too  much  dazed  by  my  escape  to  wonder 
who  had  rescued  me.  But  before  I  had  had  time  to 
regain  control  of  brain  and  overstrained  muscles,  I 
was  gently  lifted  from  my  cramped  position  and  car- 
ried to  the  sofa.  It  was  Mr.  Lannion  to  whom  I 
owed  my  safely.  His  face  was  white  and  set,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  anguish  of  anxiety  in 
his  eyes.  I  saw  him  glance  at  my  bleeding  hands, 
and,  reading  his  fear,  found  my  voice. 

"She  did  not  bite  me,"  I  said  faintly.  "These 
217 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

are  mere  scratches.  The  book  was  little.  My  hands 
struck  against  her — ah!"  I  could  not  continue,  the 
conflict  was  too  recent.  I  broke  off,  shuddering  at 
the  memory. 

Mr.  Lannion  again  caught  me  in  his  arms,  strain- 
ing me  to  him.  I  felt  his  lips  upon  my  hair. 

"My  little  girl,"  he  said  brokenly,  "my  poor  lit- 
tle girl!  God — if  I  had  been  too  late!" 

He  was  shaken  by  his  emotion,  but  I  was  too  tired 
after  my  late  struggle  to  notice  it  much.  I  pushed 
him  from  me  fretfully,  but  I  let  him  heap  cushions 
beneath  my  head  when  he  quickly  put  me  down,  and 
yielded  to  his  wish  that  I  would  rest  a  moment  be- 
fore trying  to  go  upstairs. 

"I  will  get  water  and  bathe  your  hands,"  he  said 
gently,  "and  bring  you  a  glass  of  wine.  I  have 
everything  in  here." 

He  motioned  toward  the  door  of  the  inner  room 
and  would  have  left  me,  but  I  caught  his  arm  in 
terror. 

"Malvina?"  I  questioned  with  white  lips.  "She 
is  in  there  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  strangely,  but  did  not  answer 
at  once.  It  was  as  if  he  were  weighing  his  words. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "she  is  there,  but  you  need 
not  fear  her.  She  will  never  seek  to  hurt  you 
again." 

I  stared  at  him  in  sudden  horror.  "You  have 
killed  her  ?"  I  asked,  under  my  breath. 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  response. 

"Ah!"  I  cried,  "how  could  you  have  the  heart? 
She  loved  you  so !" 

He  stood  silent  beside  me,  looking  down  at  me, 
as  if  he  could  not  understand  my  outburst.  His  face 
was  set  like  iron,  and  his  brows  bent.  His  expres- 
sion seemed  to  me  fiercely  cruel  as  he  said: 

"She  disobeyed  me.  She  had  had  orders  never  to 
218 


THE   PKISOKEK    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

hurt  you.  She  tried  to — "  He  glanced  at  the  rent 
in  my  frock  and  ceased  speaking.  Then  he  went 
quickly  into  the  next  room,  returning  almost  imme- 
diately with  a  glass  of  wine,  and  some  water  with 
which  to  wash  my  stained  hands.  "There  is  cologne 
in  this,"  he  said,  as  drawing  a  chair  close  beside 
me  he  dipped  his  handkerchief  in  the  water  and 
began,  oh,  so  gently,  to  lave  the  wounded  spots. 
"Does  it  smart  ?"  he  asked  presently,  in  the  tone  of 
an  overanxious  nurse  to  a  favorite  child.  His  harsh 
features  wore  an  expression  of  great  tenderness. 

I  watched  his  powerful,  deft  fingers — and  won- 
dered !  What  tremendous  wrists  he  had !  When  he 
chose,  his  fists  must  have  the  force  of  sledge-ham- 
mers. And  now,  because  of  this  great  force,  he  was 
doing  woman's  work,  as  well — or  better — than  a 
woman.  His  task  absorbed  him.  He  had  forgotten 
himself  in  it.  I  had  had  to  drink  every  drop  of  the 
wine.  He  could  think  of  nothing  save  caring  for 
me,  for  my  well-being,  for  my  comfort. 

I  moved  to  an  upright  position.  His  gray-green 
eyes  glowed  with  satisfaction  at  this  sign  of  return- 
ing strength.  I  took  out  my  own  handkerchief  and 
insisted  upon  drying  my  fingers  myself.  He  acqui- 
esced instantly  and,  leaving  his  chair,  seated  him- 
self beside  me  upon  the  sofa  and  watched  me  with 
indulgent  approval.  And  I,  I  looked  at  his  hands, 
and  thought  of  the  dog.  How  had  he  killed  her? 
A  single  blow  from  those  powerful  hands  would  have 
been  enough.  Why,  he  must  have  the  strength  of  a 
blacksmith.  Then,  with  one  of  those  strange,  swift 
changes  of  thought  that  are  unaccountable,  I  remem- 
bered a  certain  summer  day  at  Moaning  Pines. 

I  turned  upon  the  man  beside  me.  I  looked  at 
him  squarely.  "You  killed  the  old  wolf-hound,"  I 
said  slowly.  "You  killed  Sergius  Boris — Best." 

He  started  violently,  an  ugly  red  flushed  his  face 
219 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

from  brow  to  chin.  "It  was  in  self-defence — I 
swear  it,"  he  said  quickly.  "And  I  did  not  take  his 
rose !" 

I  shrank  back  among  my  cushions.  I  think  that 
there  was  hatred  in  my  eyes. 

"Hope,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "don't  look  at  me  like 
that !  I  did  not  want  to  kill  him,  but  he  was  at  my 
throat  before  I  could  get  away.  I  felt  I  must  see 
you  ride.  I  slit  the  canvas;  the  old  dog  heard — 
and  I  left  him  his  rose." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  expecting  me  to  speak.  But 
I  could  not.  Neither  could  I  rise  and  leave  him. 
My  strength  had  deserted  me  altogether.  I  could 
only  sit  quite  still — but  my  eyes  seemed  to  speak 
for  me. 

"If  you  would  but  realize  my  position,"  he  went 
on,  "I  think  you  would  forgive  me.  I  loved  you 
when,  a  little  child,  you  gave  me  luck  with  your 
gift  of  golden-rod.  Then  when  I  saw  you  under 
the  pine  tree,  grown  still  lovelier,  and  singing  like  a 
bird,  I  could  not  resist  speaking  to  you.  And,  later, 
I  felt  I  must  see  you  ride — all  the  countryside  rang 
with  stories  of  your  riding.  I  know  it  was  wrong" 
— he  lowered  his  voice,  dominating  his  excitement 
— "and  extremely  foolish.  I  regretted  bitterly  the 
mischief  I  had  done.  I  knew  that  the  dog  was  your 
pet,  I  had  seen  you  fondling  him,  so  I  did  not  touch 
his  rose." 

My  lips  were  parched  and  dry,  my  voice  did  not 
seem  to  belong  to  me  when  I  at  last  spoke. 

"And  this  last  mischief,"  I  asked  faintly,  "do  you 
now  regret  it — bitterly?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  to  the  window, 
as  though  unable  at  once  to  answer.  Then,  return- 
ing, he  began  in  his  methodical  way  to  fold  the  maps 
upon  the  table  with  neat  precision,  and,  after  put- 
ting them  away,  replaced  the  inkstand  and  other 

220 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

table  furniture.  I  was  well  aware  that  he  himself 
did  not  know  what  he  was  doing ;  I  realized  that  he 
was — unconsciously — but  following  his  usual  cus- 
tom, while  his  mind  faced  the  crisis  that  had  come. 
Finally  he  turned,  and,  leaning  against  the  table, 
confronted  me. 

"I  did  no  deliberate  mischief,"  he  said  steadily. 
"I  merely  took  the  good  the  gods  provided.  I  have 
done  no  wrong."  He  looked  at  me  fixedly.  I  could 
not  fathom  the  meaning  in  his  eyes. 

"I  fail  to  understand,"  I  faltered.  I  held  myself 
upright,  I  sustained  his  steady  gaze,  but  I  could  not 
keep  my  voice  from  trembling. 

His  expression  did  not  change,  and  when  the  ex- 
planation came  I  wondered  if  I  should  ever  compre- 
hend his  strange  view-point. 

"I  have  done  no  wrong,"  he  said  gravely,  "because 
I  did  not  plan  to  get  you  for  myself.  You  came  to 
me  of  your  own  free  will;  you  held  out  your  arms 
to  me,  and  cried  to  me  to  take  you.  I  did  what  any 
man  would  have  done  under  the  circumstances.  No 
more,  and  no  less." 

"What !"  I  cried,  indignation  giving  me  fictitious 
strength,  "you  dare  pretend  that  I  was  not  in  danger 
of  shipwreck  when  I  called  for  help  ?  You  dare  pre- 
tend to  believe  that  I  wanted  to  leave  my  home,  that 
I  wished  to — "  I  broke  off,  I  could  not  finish  my 
sentence,  it  was  beyond  me  to  voice  what  he  feigned 
to  believe. 

"That  you  wished  to  live  with  me,  you  would 
say?"  He  smiled  grimly  as  he  spoke.  "No,  my 
child,  I  had  no  such  wild  fancy.  But  I  knew  that 
you  would  most  assuredly  be  drowned  if  I  did  not 
care  for  you  quickly,  as  I  knew,  also,  that  everybody 
would  think  you  had  been.  Indeed,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  you  were  dead  to  your  past  the  mo- 
ment you  (of  your  own  free  will,  I  beg  you  to  re- 

221 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

member)  asked  me  to  save  you.  I  believe  in  fate," 
he  continued  gravely.  "Three  times  you  crossed 
my  path.  Twice  you  brought  me  good  fortune; 
for  everything  prospered  after  I  had  met  you. 
Now " 

"Now,"  I  interrupted,  "I  shall  be  your  bane. 
Twice  I  met  you,  and  each  time  I  wished  you  well. 
Now,  I  pray  God " 

"Hush!"  he  cried  quickly.  "Don't  injure  your- 
self." 

"  Myself  ?"  I  asked.    Again  he  spoke  in  riddles. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quietly,  "yourself,  for  you  are  to 
be  my  wife.  My  fortunes  will  be  yours — until  death 
parts  us." 

I  laughed— a  little  wildly.  "Death?"  I  said 
softly.  "Ah,  yes,  I  thank  you.  I  had  forgotten  that, 
in  God's  great  mercy,  the  Death  Angel  sometimes 
saves  souls.  If  need  be  may  he  save  yours — and 
mine,  Mr.  Lannion." 

I  rose,  and  rejecting  his  offers  of  assistance, 
walked  slowly  from  the  room. 


222 


XX 

I  was  thankful  that  I  met  no  one  on  my  way  to 
my  room,  and  that  I  found  it  empty.  I  had  dreaded 
Delcie's  outcry  over  my  bruised  hands.  I  made 
haste  to  cover  with  plaster  the  places  where  the  skin 
was  most  noticeably  broken,  but  I  could  do  nothing 
to  hide  the  discoloration  that  must  follow. 

After  I  had  changed  my  frock  I  tried  to  get  my 
thoughts  under  control.  In  this  I  failed.  Mr.  Lan- 
nion  had  given  up  the  farce  in  regard  to  my  insanity 
when  we  were  alone  together;  would  he  do  so  when 
the  other  members  of  the  household  were  present  ? 
I  strove  to  arrange  a  course  of  action  for  the  future, 
but  my  mind  refused  to  do  anything  save  dwell  upon 
the  scene  that  I  had  just  lived  through.  I  tried,  too, 
to  brace  myself  for  the  wondering  sympathy  of  Mrs. 
Despard;  she  would  ask  endless  and  difficult  ques- 
tions. Later  I  should  have  to  talk  much  of  the  in- 
cident to  Aileen. 

But  the  morning  passed  and  no  one  came  to  inter- 
rupt my  solitude.  There  was  more  noise  in  the  house 
than  usual,  and  I,  with  youthful  egotism,  fancied  at 
first  that  it  was  because  of  me.  I  said  to  myself  that 
they  had  now  heard  of  Malvina's  attack,  and  of  her 
death.  Each  moment  I  expected  Mrs.  Despard  to 
rush  in,  all  excitement  and  curiosity.  When  she 
failed  to  appear,  and  the  sound  of  constant  coming 
and  going  continued,  I  peeped  out  into  the  hall. 
Cooper  and  Jasper  were  carrying  a  large  trunk  down 
from  the  third  story.  I  closed  my  door  quickly,  not 
wishing  to  be  seen.  The  two  strangers  must  be  leav- 
ing. Later,  hearing  the  sound  repeated,  I  thought 

223 


THE   PKISONEK   OF   OKNTTH   FAKM 

that  they  had  brought  much  luggage  for  so  short  a 
stay,  but  I  did  not  look  out  again. 

It  was  Jasper,  not  Delcie,  who  brought  me  my 
luncheon,  and  he  gave  me  ill  tidings.  Delcie,  he  said, 
had  had  sad  news  from  home ;  her  mother  was  dying, 
and  she  had  hurried  away.  Nanny  would  come  when 
I  rang. 

Although  I  took  it  for  granted  that  Delcie  would 
soon  return,  I  had  an  odd,  forsaken  feeling  without 
her.  Her  gentle  care  had  been  my  sole  comfort.  I 
had  grown  fond  of  her. 

In  the  late  afternoon  there  came  a  knock  at  my 
door.  Supposing  that  Nannie  was  outside  I  called 
"Come  in,"  without  leaving  my  seat  by  the  window. 
I  was  busy  sewing  on  the  work  that  Delcie  had  pre- 
pared for  me,  having  a  childish  desire  to  finish  it 
during  her  absence,  since  this  would  give  her  pleas- 
ure. I  did  not  even  look  up  until  the  incomer  said: 

"What  an  industrious  little  woman !  But  you  will 
hurt  your  pretty  eyes." 

Then  I  rose  hastily,  for  it  was  Mr.  Lannion. 

"May  I  sit  down?"  he  asked,  as  I  gave  him  no 
greeting. 

I  shook  my  head.  "No,"  I  said  gravely.  "And 
please  say  what  you  have  come  to  say  quickly,  Mr. 
Lannion." 

"What  a  cold  welcome,"  he  exclaimed  reproach- 
fully, "when  I  went  to  town  through  mud  and  mire 
to  get  something  to  please  you!  See" — he  placed 
a  bonbonniere  upon  my  dressing-table — "I  have 
brought  you  your  favorite  marrons.  You  eat  no 
luncheon,  and  I  hoped  that  these  might  tempt  you." 

I  murmured  a  cold  "thank  you."  I  wished  that  he 
would  go  away.  But  he  carried  a  large  paper  box 
in  addition  to  the  one  that  held  the  marrons,  and 
this  he  now  offered  me,  taking  my  work  out  of  my 
hands  as  he  did  so. 

224 


"Sit  down,"  he  said  coaxingly,  and  advancing  so 
close  that  I  had  no  choice  but  to  yield,  "and  look 
what  I  have  in  here  for  you." 

He  laid  the  box  on  my  lap  and  took  off  the  cover. 
A  delicious  fragrance  floated  into  the  room ;  the  per- 
fume of  the  heliotrope  with  which  the  box  was  filled. 
The  purple  sprays  were  damp  and  soft;  their  odor 
was  rich,  enervating.  I  glanced  up  at  the  man  bend- 
ing over  me;  I  did  not  like  the  expression  in  his 
strange  eyes. 

"Put  in  your  hand  and  see  what  you  will  find," 
he  said  gently,  attuning  his  rough  voice  to  as  soft 
a  key  as  he  might. 

"A  snake  ?"  I  suggested,  not  offering  to  obey. 

Pretending  not  to  hear,  he  himself  parted  the 
masses  of  purple  blooms  and  drew  out  a  jewel  box. 
I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  upon  his  face ;  I  did  not  touch 
the  little  case  of  green  morocco.  AJnd,  as  before,  he 
had  to  do  himself  what  he  had  planned  that  I  should 
do.  He  opened  the  box  and  displayed  its  hidden 
treasure,  a  large  horseshoe  in  diamonds.  This  he 
took  out  and  held  up  for  me  to  admire. 

"A  pendant?"  I  said  in  expressionless  tones.  "I 
thought  it  must  be  a  scarf-pin  for  the  younger  of 
your  two  friends." 

"A  scarf-pin  ?"  he  repeated  in  unfeigned  surprise. 
"This  big  thing?" 

"None  too  large  for  your  friend's  taste,"  I  said 
seriously.  "He  seems  fond  of  large  showy  things." 

Mr.  Lannion  replaced  the  pendant  and  closed  the 
case  with  a  snap.  "Even  if  you  don't  care  for  me," 
he  said  gloomily,  "I  can  see  no  reason  why  you 
should  treat  me  like  this!  I  have  done  my  best  to 
please  you.  I  don't  care  for  sweets,  or  flowers,  or 
diamonds,  but  I  ride  seven  miles  through  the  rain, 
and  spend  half  my  afternoon  in  stuffy  cars  and  close 
shops,  to  get  them  for  you,  and  you  throw  them  in 

225 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

my  face.  That  idiotic  bauble  cost  a  pretty  penny. 
Why  don't  you  like  it,  child  2" 

I  did  not  answer. 

"The  watch  and  the  buckle  pleased  you/'  he  went 
on.  "You  accepted  them.  Why  won't  you  take  this 
pendant,  pray?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said  listlessly.  "Because  you 
wanted  to  buy  it,  I  suppose.  You  grudged  the 
others." 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  and  he  stared  anx- 
iously at  me  as  though  striving  to. 

"You  can  have  a  pin  put  on  it,"  I  suggested  in- 
differently, "and  give  it  to  your  flashy  friend,  or  you 
can  change  it  for  something  for  yourself.  Perhaps 
they  will  give  you  your  money  back.  I  wish  you 
would  take  these  flowers  away,  please.  Their  odor 
is  so  heavy  it  makes  me  faint.  And  I  am  tired  of 
marrons.  You  might  give  them  to  Roddy.  Is  Nanny 
to  be  with  me  to-night?" 

"No,"  he  said  curtly,  gathering  up  both  flowers 
and  bonbons,  "Zayma." 

"Zayma !"  I  exclaimed,  springing  up.  "But  I 
won't  have  her." 

"You  will  have  to,"  he  said  grimly;  "she  is  the 
only  person  I  can  trust." 

"But  when  I  tell  you  I  will  not?"  I  insisted. 
He  did  not  answer,  but  moved  toward  the  door, 
which  stood  wide.  "I  will  not,  Mr.  Lannion,"  I  re- 
peated, stamping  my  foot.  "I  will  not,  I  will  not, 
I  will  no*!" 

Mrs.  Despard  was  crossing  the  hall  as  I  spoke, 
and  I  spoke  so  that  any  or  all  might  hear.  She 
hesitated,  wavered,  then  came  to  my  door.  She 
looked  tired  and  blowsed,  as  if  she  had  been  working 
hard. 

"Is  anything  wrong,  Aimee?"  she  said. 

I  felt  very  grateful,  for  I  knew  that  it  had  not 
226 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FARM 

been  without  effort  that  she  had  come  to  my  assist- 
ance. Like  everybody  at  the  Farm  she  stood  in  awe 
of  its  master.  I  ran  past  Mr.  Lannion  and  caught 
her  hand. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Despard,"  I  said  impulsively,  "won't 
you  stay  with  me  to-night  ?  Delcie  has  gone,  and  Mr. 
Lannion  says  I  must  have  Zayma,  and  I  detest  her 
so." 

"Yes,  yes,  dearie,  of  course  I  will,"  she  answered 
soothingly,  then  added,  bridling :  "Unless  you  object, 
Rollis?"' 

He  stood  silent  regarding  us,  his  arms  filled  with 
the  rejected  gifts,  but  before  he  had  decided  how 
to  answer,  Mrs.  Despard  caught  sight  of  my 
hands. 

"Aimee,  child,"  she  cried  in  alarm,  "whatever  has 
happened  to  your  hands?"  She  took  them  gently 
in  her  own,  exclaiming  in  real  sorrow  over  their  con- 
dition: "Such  dear,  sweet  little  hands,  and  all  cov- 
ered with  bruises!  Rollis,"  she  turned  to  Mr.  Lan- 
nion, "have  you  seen  the  child's  hands  ?  Do  look  at 
them " 

She  broke  off,  startled  by  his  expression. 

"I  cannot  heal  them,"  he  said  harshly,  "nor  would 
she  let  me  if  I  could." 

I  smiled  at  him  suddenly.  "You  will  allow  me 
to  accept  Mrs.  Despard's  kind  offer,  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Lannion,"  I  said  coaxingly.  "And  you  must  not 
worry  about  my  hands — either  of  you.  They  will 
soon  be  well." 

"Let  me  look  at  them,"  he  said. 

He  dropped  the  boxes  on  the  floor,  and  as  Mrs. 
Despard  released  my  hands,  he  caught  them  in  his 
own  and,  bending  his  tall  head,  covered  them  with 
kisses.  Too  startled  at  first  to  move,  I  gave  him  his 
way,  but  Mrs.  Despard  struck  him  sharply  on  the 
shoulder. 

227 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"You've  gone  stark  mad,  Rollis  Lannion,"  she 
cried.  "Come  to  yourself,  man !" 

He  did  .not  answer,  but  leaving  his  boxes  where 
they  lay,  went  into  his  own  room  and  closed  the 
door.  Mrs.  Despard,  her  lips  tightly  shut,  picked  up 
the  fallen  treasures  and  made  a  neat  heap  of  these 
belongings  at  his  threshold. 

"I'm  very  busy  now,"  she  said  to  me,  "but  I'll 
keep  Zayma  in  her  place — the  huzzy !  Loo  Despard 
shall  come  to  you  at  ten  sharp,  and  wait  till  I  can 
get  ready.  You  won't  mind  his  readin'  quiet  by 
your  lamp?  You  can  go  to  sleep  with  him  there, 
can't  you?  Doctors  are  used  to  sittin'  up  with  pa- 
tients, you  know.  He  won't  mind  a  mite." 

I  did  not  want  Dr.  Despard,  but  an  hour  or  two 
of  his  society  being  better  than  a  whole  night  with 
Zayma,  I  tried  to  accept  politely.  Before  she  left 
me  Mrs.  Despard  had  to  hear  why  my  hands  were 
in  so  strange  a  condition.  Amazed  that  she  had  not 
already  been  told,  I  explained  as  briefly  as  possible. 
She  exclaimed  in  terror  over  my  narrow  escape,  and 
rejoiced  to  hear  of  the  death  of  the  dog.  Poor  Mal- 
vina  had  been  generally  feared  and  disliked.  Upon 
my  suggesting  that  Aileen  had  better  not  hear  the 
story  until  morning,  Mrs.  Despard  eyed  me  wistfully, 
then  hurriedly  acquiesced.  Aileen,  she  said,  had  had 
many  letters  that  morning  and  was  already  thinking 
too  much. 

"No  bad  news,  I  hope  ?"  I  said  anxiously. 

Mrs.  Despard  shook  her  head.  "I  hope  not,"  was 
the  uncertain  answer.  Then,  as  if  to  avoid  being 
questioned,  she  hurried  away. 

Later,  Nanny  asked  me  if  I  would  object  to  going 
to  bed  early.  Mrs.  Lucas  needed  her,  she  said,  and 
if  nine  o'clock  were  not  too  soon  for  her  to  leave  me 
— or  half  past  nine,  perhaps — Mrs.  Lucas  would  be 
obliged.  So  at  half  past  nine  I  was  settled  for  the 

228 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

night,  with  Dr.  Despard,  established  as  watchman, 
reading  by  the  table  near  the  door.  I  did  not  speak 
to  him  when  he  entered  but,  with  my  face  turned  to 
the  wall,  pretended  to  be  already  asleep.  I  was  in 
reality  painfully  awake.  The  noises  of  the  night,  the 
sounds  in  the  house,  all  jarred  alike  upon  my  nerves. 
Outside,  the  storm-wind  keened  past  my  windows 
and  worried  the  branches  of  the  two  great  maples 
until  they  creaked  and  groaned  in  their  efforts  to 
shake  themselves  free.  Within,  there  was  the  tick- 
ing of  my  own  soft-voiced  clock,  the  call  of  the  big 
one  in  the  lower  hall,  striking  the  hour  and  half 
hour,  and  the  gentle  stealthy  rustle  of  the  leaves  of 
the  pamphlet  that  Dr.  Despard  was  reading.  From 
Aileen's  room  came  the  subdued  hum  of  women's 
voices ;  and,  many  times  during  the  evening,  the  door 
was  opened  and  closed,  as  if  Mrs.  Despard,  or  Nanny, 
had  countless  errands  to  run.  I  wondered — but  asked 
no  questions  of  my  silent  companion. 

Ten  o'clock  struck.  Mrs.  Despard  did  not  come, 
but  I  heard  some  one  stop  outside  my  door.  The 
doctor  rose  and  stole  into  the  hall.  I  hastily  changed 
my  position ;  I  was  stiffened  and  weary  from  holding 
myself  quiet.  After  a  few  moments  of  whispered 
conversation  Dr.  Despard  returned  to  his  former 
place  and  to  his  reading,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  that  his 
interviewer  still  lingered.  I  thought  I  detected  the 
muffled  pad,  pad  of  footsteps  going  and  coming  on 
the  heavy  carpet  of  the  hall.  Guessing  who  it  was 
that  cared  to  pace  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  out- 
side my  door,  it  was  soon  all  that  I  could  do  to  re- 
press the  nervous  trembling  that  came  upon  me  as  I 
listened.  And  when,  suddenly,  a  shriek  of  terror 
rang  out,  I  started  violently,  echoing  it  in  spite  of 
myself. 

"Only  Roddy,"  said  Dr.  Despard,  throwing  down 
his  book  and  coming  quickly  to  my  side.  "He  has 

229 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

the  nightmare."  (Aileen's  door  opened,  and  there 
followed  a  sudden  rush  across  the  hall.)  "His 
mother  has  gone  to  him,"  he  added  soothingly; 
"there  is  no  cause  for  alarm." 

I  sat  up  in  bed,  staring  at  him  in  doubt,  wide-eyed 
with  unreasoning  fear.  He  smiled  at  me  reassur- 
ingly. 

"I  keep  you  awake,  and  I  am  sorry,"  he  said 
kindly.  "You  have  not  had  even  one  little  nap,  and 
it  is  now  nearly  eleven.  Mrs.  Despard  will  be  here 
directly.  Do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  compose 
yourself  ?  Shall  I  give  you  something  to  quiet  your 
nerves  ?" 

I  thanked  him,  but  declined.  I  wondered  how  he 
had  known  that  I  was  awake,  and  how  any  one  could 
appear  so  kind  yet  be  so  cruel.  I  lay  back  among 
my  pillows.  I  wished  that  he  would  cease  looking  at 
me  so  earnestly — his  eyes  were  uncomfortably  bright 
and  keen.  Why  did  he  not  resume  his  book?  In- 
stead, he  drew  up  a  chair  and  seated  himself  beside 
my  bed. 

"You  have  no  faith  in  me  as  a  doctor,"  he  re- 
marked presently,  "and  as  a  man  you  dislike  me. 
Mine  is  a  hard  case."  He  smiled,  but  sighed  a  little 
at  the  same  time,  as  though  he  really  felt  regret  be- 
cause of  my  attitude.  "Yet  I  wish  you  well,"  he 
added,  speaking  in  a  lower  tone,  "believe  it  or  not 
as  you  like." 

"Doubtless,"  I  said  coldly,  "provided  that  my 
well-being  does  not  interfere  with  your  comfort. 
Mr.  Lannion  and  his  wishes,  rank  me  and  my  rights — 
voila  tout !" 

Dr.  Despard  avoided  meeting  my  eyes  as  I  fin- 
ished. He  looked  up  instead  at  the  sevens  that 
seemed  fairly  agog  with  curiosity  over  this  change 
in  my  companions. 

"I  did  not  look  for  thanks,"  he  said  quietly,  "and 
230 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  knew  that  you  distrusted  me.  Have  you  ever  no- 
ticed the  curious  way  in  which  the  pattern  of  this 
frieze  resolves  itself  into  sevens  ?" 

"They  are  trying  to  bring  me  luck,"  I  said. 

As  I  ceased  speaking  Mrs.  Despard  entered.  She 
looked  disturbed,  irritated.  Without  addressing 
either  of  us  in  particular  she  burst  into  speech. 

"I'd  just  like  to  know  who's  been  filling  that  child's 
head  with  such  scary  nonsense !  Which  I  believe  it's 
that  Tommy  King ;  there's  nothin'  he  doesn't  say  but 
his  prayers — and  them  he  whispers,  for  all  he's  been 
an  off  and  on  minister,  so  to  speak." 

She  stopped  for  breath,  and  glanced  from  her 
husband  to  me  in  search  of  sympathy,  but  before  we 
had  time  to  express  it,  recommenced  her  jeremiad. 

"And  Roddy  fairly  screeching  his  head  off  with 
nightmare,  and  when  I  run  in,  it's  'mother,  mother, 
the  wolf,  the  wolf!'  And  when  I  try  to  quiet  him, 
he  says  the  beast  is  after  his  Grace  Darling,  meaning 
you" — she  nodded  her  head  at  me — "and  we  must 
fetch  Pop  to  save  you.  Then  I  was  getting  him 
soothed  down  when  he  ketches  holt  of  me  and  whis- 
pers, 'Hush !  I  hear  it  prowlin'  in  the  hall  now — oh, 
mother,  mother,  what  shall  we  do?'  Which  for  a 
moment,  I'm  free  to  confess,  I  kinder  had  the  creeps 
myself,  and  just  hated  to  go  and  look  out,  as  naturally 
I  had  to,  it  bein'  the  only  way  to  comfort  the  boy. 
But,  will  you  believe  it  ?  when  I  did  go,  an'  thought 
to  make  him  feel  real  good  by  tellin'  him  that  'twas 
only  his  Uncle  Rollis  he  heard  walking  up  and  down, 
so  everything  was  all  right  an'  he  could  turn  over 
an'  go  to  sleep,  he  took  on  worse  than  ever.  Which 
he  began  to  talk  of  were-wolves  and  loogarews  and  a 
lot  of  things  I  never  heard  of.  What  does  Tommy 
King — which  is  a  limb  of  Satan,  anyway — mean  by 
filling  the  child's  head  with  such  stuff  ?" 

She  stared  at  her  husband  indignantly,  suspi- 
231 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

ciously,  as  if  secretly  feeling  that  he,  too,  might  be 
blameworthy.  Dr.  Despard  smiled,  as  though  he 
found  grim  amusement  in  the  affair. 

"So  Tom  believes  in  lycanthropy,  does  he  ?"  He 
spoke  musingly,  as  though  but  thinking  aloud. 
"Well,  I  have  never  met  with  a  case  of  it ;  but  then 
my  practice  has  not  been  a  wide  one." 

"I  wish  you'd  talk  sense,"  said  Mrs.  Despard 
irritably,  eying  him  with  extreme  disfavor.  "What 
do  you  mean,  anyway  ?  What's  lie-what-do-you-call- 
it  ?  What  does  Tom — the  idiot — believe  in  ?" 

"In  versipelles,  apparently,"  said  her  husband, 
taking  so  evident  a  pleasure  in  further  befogging  her 
that  there  might  have  been  an  explosion,  her  wrath 
being  high,  had  not  an  unexpected  interruption  oc- 
curred. 

Poor  Roddy,  left  alone,  had  evidently  had  another 
fright.  For  he  now  pattered  in,  in  his  night-clothes, 
and,  after  a  quick  glance  in  my  direction  had  shown 
him  that  I  was  safe,  caught  his  father  about  the 
knees  and  clung  to  him  without  speaking. 

"There,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Despard  with  her  custom- 
ary irrelevance,  and  speaking  as  though  the  doctor 
had  been  the  willing  cause  of  his  son's  terror,  "now 
I  hope  you're  satisfied,  Loo  Despard !" 

But  her  husband,  sitting  down,  drew  the  child 
kindly  into  his  arms,  remonstrating  gently  with  him 
upon  his  unreasoning  fear.  "Why,  Roddy,"  he  said 
with  playful  tenderness,  "do  you  want  your  old 
father  to  make  a  baby  of  you  again  ?  Must  I  come 
and  sit  by  you  until  you  go  to  sleep — is  that  what  you 
want?" 

"No,  no,"  gasped  the  poor  child,  struggling  man- 
fully to  keep  back  the  tears ;  "I  want  you  to  stay  right 
here.  I  only  came  to  make  sure.  I — I " 

"You  doubted  my  word,  my  son  ?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Despard  majestically,  but  deeply  wounded. 

232 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FAEM 

Roddy  turned  his  anxious  little  face  toward  her 
in  piteous  appeal  for  gentle  judgment.  "I  believed 
you,  of  course,  mother,"  he  faltered,  "but  I  wanted 
to  make  sure  that  Pop  understood.  You'll  take  care 
of  her,  Pop,  won't  you?  I  get  so  scared  for  her 
sometimes " 

"Why?"  asked  Dr.  Despard,  eying  his  son 
strangely.  It  was  as  if  he  feared  the  child. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Roddy,  breaking  down  in 
spite  of  himself  and  beginning  to  cry.  "He's  so  big 
— and  she's  so  little.  And,  oh,  Pop,  promise  you'll 
look  after  her,  do !  She's  all  alone,  and  she  misses 
the  boys,  and  I'm  no  good,  and,  oh,  Pop,  Pop,  say 
you  will!"  He  flung  his  arms  around  his  father's 
neck,  clutching  him  desperately  in  his  anxiety. 

There  followed  an  odd  silence,  broken  at  last  by 
the  sound  of  strange  laughter.  Dr.  Despard  was  tak- 
ing his  son's  appeal  in  a  curious  fashion,  for  his 
laughter  held  no  vibration  of  real  mirth. 

"Certainly,  Roddy" — he  spoke  with  cold  politeness 
— "I  shall  always  do  what  I  can  for  Miss  Darling, 
of  that  you  may  be  sure." 

The  boy  disengaged  himself  and  slid  down  from 
his  father's  knees,  chilled  by  this  reception  of  his 
prayer  for  help. 

"Ain't  you  mean,  Loo  Despard !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Despard  indignantly.  "And  don't  you  fret,  son-boy ! 
Mother'll  look  after  your  Grace  Darling !  Mother'll 
promise  you,  if  father  won't." 

"You  see  I  am  not  needed,  Roddy,"  said  Dr. 
Despard  pleasantly.  "Miss  Darling  has  friends  on 
all  sides " 

The  child  had  ceased  sobbing.  He  had  an  odd 
look  as  if  depressed  into  passivity  by  the  failure  of 
his  father  to  respond.  It  was  as  though  terra  firma 
had  suddenly  given  way.  He  climbed  up  on  my  bed 
and  kissed  me  good-night,  but  this  he  did  as  if  his 

233 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

young  mind  were  too  busy  trying  to  readjust  itself 
to  a  new  scheme  of  the  universe — solid  earth  having 
proved  unreliable — to  think  much  about  the  ordinary 
interchange  of  affection.  He  walked  slowly  to  the 
door  in  a  state  of  abstraction,  forgetting  to  pay  his 
father  the  same  attention  that  he  had  just  bestowed 
upon  me,  until  reminded  of  his  remissness.  Then  he 
did  so  coldly  and  dreamily,  merely  getting  through 
with  a  necessary  duty.  When  he  reached  the  thresh- 
old, however,  he  paused  and  looked  back  at  me.  It 
was  evident  that  the  other  two  occupants  of  the  room 
were  forgotten  in  his  absorption.  Nodding  his  head 
at  me  wisely,  he  forced  a  smile  and  said,  with  a  brave 
attempt  at  cheerfulness,  as  he  left  the  room: 

"After  all,  there's  always  God,  you  know !  I  guess 
you  and  me  will  just  pray." 

Dr.  Despard,  without  the  civility  of  leave-taking, 
followed  his  son.  Mrs.  Despard,  silent  for  once, 
hurried  her  preparations  for  the  night.  Before 
lying  down  she  came  to  my  side  and,  impulsively 
taking  my  hands  in  hers,  said  with  a  suspiciously 
shaky  voice : 

"I  guess  you  and  me — will  just  pray." 

She  offered  her  petition  in  silence,  then  kissed  me 
tenderly,  and,  without  again  speaking,  retired  to  rest. 
I  knew  instinctively  that  she  dreaded  speech,  fearing 
that  she  might  betray  what  she  had  been  bidden  to 
keep  from  me.  And  I,  dreading  equally  any  break- 
down in  one  so  unaccustomed  to  exerting  self-control, 
was  careful  to  respect  her  wish  for  silence.  She 
sighed  heavily  again  and  again,  tossing  from  side  to 
side  as  if  vainly  striving  to  forget  her  cares  in  the 
sleep  that  would  not  come.  And  when  at  last  the 
heavy  breathing  told  me  that  she  was  no  longer 
wakeful,  her  frequent  cries  and  moans  of  distress 
showed  that  even  in  slumber  her  worries  haunted 
her  still. 

234 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FAEM 

I,  too,  had  troubled  sleep,  after  my  day  of  miser- 
able excitement.  The  old  nightmare  of  the  drifting 
boat,  with  Mary  Hamilton  for  my  companion,  again 
tormented  me.  As  before,  we  were  being  swung 
shoreward,  on  huge  oily  billows,  toward  a  long  stretch 
of  sandy  beach.  But  this  time — probably  because 
of  little  Roddy's  terrors — it  was  not  wreckers,  wait- 
ing for  their  prey,  that  made  the  rapidly  nearing 
shore  a  horror.  On  the  white  sand,  lighted  dimly 
by  a  waning  moon,  I  dreamed  I  saw  a  shadow  flitting 
restlessly  up  and  down,  as  if  impatient  for  our 
coming. 

I  strained  my  tired  eyes.  The  light  grew  suddenly 
glaring,  yet  I  could  not  quite  determine  what  kind 
of  creature  watched  us.  Was  it  man,  or  wolf  ? 

The  world  was  bright  with  sunshine  when  I  awoke. 
Roddy  stood  by  my  bedside,  all  smiles  and  happiness, 
his  fears  of  the  past  night  forgotten. 

"Tom's  back,"  he  said  delightedly  the  moment  he 
was  sure  that  I  was  awake,  "and  he's  brought  me 
this."  He  held  up  a  three-masted  schooner,  all  sails 
set.  A  toy  to  charm  the  heart  of  any  boy.  "I  wish 
you'd  come  out  with  us,"  he  continued,  after  I  had 
expressed  my  admiration ;  "we're  goin'  to  sail  her  in 
the  fountain.  Do  get  up  and  eat  your  breakfast  soon ! 
We'll  wait,  if  you  will.  Tom  says  you  must  christen 
her;  girls  always  christen  new  boats.  Will  you 
come  ?" 

I  promised  to  hurry  my  toilet  and  follow  at  once 
to  the  garden. 

"No,"  said  Roddy,  "we'll  wait  in  the  hall.  Say, 
guess  what  I'm  going  to  name  her?"  I  shook  my 
head  and  said  I  could  not.  "The  Grace  Darling!" 
he  announced,  with  a  joyous  giggle,  "after  both  of 
you — grand,  isn't  it?"  and  he  ran  away. 

235 


XXI 

While  I  made  all  haste  with  my  toilet,  I  found 
time  to  wonder  that  Roddy  had  been  permitted  to 
rouse  me  from  my  late  nap.  Hitherto  it  had  been 
the  aim  of  both  Mr.  Lannion  and  the  doctor  to  pro- 
mote in  every  way  (save  that  of  restoring  me  to  my 
home)  my  bodily  health.  Delcie  had  had  orders 
to  encourage  my  sleeping  as  long  and  as  late  as  pos- 
sible, and  Zayma  exerted  her  utmost  skill  in  pre- 
paring the  dishes  for  my  solitary  meals.  Did  my 
appetite  slacken  Dr.  Despard  administered  tonics, 
and  Mr.  Lannion  sought  far  and  near  for  dainties 
that  might  tempt  it  back.  Mrs.  Despard  remon- 
strated, Aileen  coaxed.  I,  my  slumber,  and  my  ap- 
petite, were  of  enormous  importance  to  all.  But  this 
morning,  when  the  doctor  himself  knew  that  I  had 
slept  ill,  I  was  awakened  early ;  and  when  for  break- 
fast I  drank  a  glass  of  milk,  eating  nothing,  Nanny, 
my  new  attendant,  made  no  comment.  She  had, 
indeed,  so  eager  a  manner  as  she  served  me  it  was 
as  if  she  could  scarcely  get  me  off  her  hands  fast 
enough. 

Mr.  Lannion  was  in  the  hall  with  Roddy  when  I 
went  downstairs.  He  scrutinized  me  anxiously,  then 
greeted  me  with  affectionate  tenderness. 

"Dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  smiling,  "how  sweet 
and  fresh  you  look!  But  I  must  not  keep  you,  or 
Roddy  will  have  a  jealous  bone  to  pick  with  me.  I 
hear  that  you  are  to  christen  his  boat." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "but  there  is  no  hurry.  We  must 
have  something  to  christen  it  with." 

So  he,  too,  was  anxious  for  my  exit  from  the 
236 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

house!  I  stood  still,  my  hand  upon  the  newel  post, 
watching  his  strong  face.  It  was  such  a  pity,  I 
thought,  that  a  man  with  so  much  force  of  character 
should  not  exert  this  power  for  good.  And  I  began 
to  wonder — for  the  first  time,  since  I  was  young  and 
unused  to  thinking  out  psychological  problems — if 
his  theft  of  my  liberty  was  his  first  evil  deed.  Did 
any  one  ever  take  such  a  big  first  step  downward  ? 

And  why  did  he  want  to  get  rid  of  me  this  morn- 
ing? Roddy,  dancing  up  and  down  in  an  agony 
of  impatience,  here  insisted  that  I  had  promised  to 
come  into  the  garden  with  him  immediately  after 
my  breakfast.  I  decided  that  it  would  be  better  to 
go,  and  come  back  unexpectedly. 

"We  must  first  get  the  champagne,"  I  said. 

"Champagne!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lannion.  "My 
dear  child,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  Every  drop 
will  be  lost!" 

"It  always  is  when  a  vessel  is  christened,"  I  said. 
"Run,  Roddy,  and  fetch  a  half-pint  bottle  of  Veuve 
Cliquot" 

"No,  no,"  cried  Mr.  Lannion,  as  Roddy  was  mak- 
ing off  to  the  pantry,  "don't  do  that!  Tell  Jasper 
to  fill  an  empty  champagne  bottle  with  water;  that 
will  do  as  well."  I  raised  my  eyebrows  in  surprise. 
"Lithia  water,  Roddy,  a  bottle  of  lithia,"  Mr.  Lan- 
nion hastily  amended,  "sparkling  lithia.  That,"  he 
turned  to  me  with  a  deprecatory  smile,  "will  look 
just  like  champagne." 

I  sat  down  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  staircase. 
"A  pint  of  Veuve  Cliquot,  Roddy,"  I  said  firmly. 
"I  won't  have  any  kind  of  pretence — I'm  tired  of  it." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Lannion  resignedly,  "but  a 
half-pint  will  do.  Bring  a  half-pint,  Roddy." 

We  neither  of  us  spoke  during  the  child's  absence. 
Mr.  Lannion  had  no  small  talk,  and  I  was  in  no 
mood  for  civilities.  Presently  Roddy  returned.  He 

237 


carried  a  half-pint  bottle.     I  eyed  it  with  extreme 
disfavor. 

"I  asked  for  a  pint,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  said  poor  Koddy,  "but  Uncle  Kollis 
said — "  He  broke  off,  looking  up  at  Mr.  Lannion 
in  embarrassment. 

"I  always  imagined  that  thieves  were  liberal!"  I 
observed.  I  spoke  to  nobody  in  particular,  but  I 
gazed  in  mild  surprise  at  Mr.  Lannion.  He  flushed 
deeply. 

"Thieves!"  he  echoed.  Then,  lowering  his  voice 
he  repeated,  questioningly,  "Thieves?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "thieves.  They  are  always  sup- 
posed to  be  liberal — so  we  honest  folk  are  told,  any- 
way. You  are  the  stingiest  man  I  ever  met,  Mr. 
Lannion." 

"I  ?"  he  exclaimed,  but  still  speaking  very  softly. 
His  expression  was  so  strange  that  had  I  not  been 
in  a  perfectly  reckless  mood,  I  might  have  felt  sorry 
for  my  words.  "What" — he  spoke  with  a  percepti- 
ble effort — "what  have  I  to  do  with — but  never  mind. 
Roddy,"  he  turned  abruptly  to  the  bewildered  child, 
"get  what  Miss  Darling  asked  for." 

"A  pint  ?"  demanded  Eoddy. 

"No,  a  quart,"  I  said.  "I  would  have  been  con- 
tent with  a  pint  had  it  been  yielded  gracefully. 
Now  a  quart  is  necessary.  Perhaps  a  whole  dozen 
of  quarts  will  not  lave  my  wounded  vanity  if  you 
persist  in " 

"Go,  Roddy,"  interrupted  Mr.  Lannion  quickly, 
"and  bring  a  quart  of  champagne,  before  my  uncon- 
scionable little  empress  has  time  to  waste  all  my 
substance !" 

He  strove  to  speak  lightly,  but  I  saw  that  he  was 
disturbed  and  ill  at  ease. 

"Are  Roddy  and  I  to  go  alone  to  the  garden?" 
1  asked 

238 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lannion,  "Tom  King  is  outside." 

"Why  outside  ?"  I  demanded. 

"I  happen  to  be  out  of  favor,"  was  the  strange 
answer ;  "my  roof  casts  a  shadow  too  deep  for  him." 

Before  I  could  inquire  further  Roddy  appeared 
with  the  big  bottle  and  hurried  me  away.  As  I  fol- 
lowed in  his  wake  I  found  time  to  wonder  over  the 
curious  feeling  existing  in  men's  minds  in  regard 
to  the  use  of  words.  Had  I  classed  Mr.  Lannion 
with  captors,  jailers,  or  even  kidnappers,  I  did  not 
doubt  but  that  he  would  have  shrugged  his  shoulders 
in  good-natured  toleration  of  my  over-strong  Eng- 
lish. The  moment  I  dubbed  him  thief,  he  felt  out- 
raged; yet  a  thief  he  was,  for  he  had  stolen  my 
liberty. 

I  saw  Mr.  King  waiting  for  us  at  the  garden  gate, 
but  I  could  not  resist  loitering  a  little.  For  the 
gay  west  wind  was  amusing  itself  by  shaking  the 
drops  from  the  overburdened  leaves  of  the  pear- 
trees,  still  glossy  and  shining  from  the  late  storm. 
It  would  be  delightful  to  stand  beneath  and  catch 
this  glistening,  mimic  rain  upon  outstretched  palms. 
Only  pity  for  the  impatient  Roddy  prevented  my  in- 
dulging this  fancy. 

Mr.  King  advanced  with  dragging  steps  to  meet 
me,  and  took  the  bottle  of  champagne.  He  looked 
five  years  older  than  when  I  had  seen  him  last. 
Tired,  haggard,  and  deeply  depressed,  he  greeted  me 
with  no  attempt  at  gayety. 

"A  very  big  bottle  for  a  little  lady  to  break  against 
a  toy  prow,"  he  said,  smiling  kindly  down  at  me. 

"Dear  me,"  I  exclaimed,  eying  the  fat  bottle  in 
real  consternation,  "I  forgot  all  about  that!" 

"What  were  you  thinking  of — if  I  may  ask?" 
said  Mr.  King,  watching  me  with  friendly  interest. 

I  blushed.  "Of  tormenting  Mr.  Lannion,"  I  said 
frankly;  adding  impulsively,  "It  was  not  nice  of  me. 

239 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  am  ashamed.  Petty  revenges  are  contemptible.  I 
would  have  despised  condescending  to  use  them  once 
— but  I  seem  to  be  changing  for  the  worse.  Captiv- 
ity and — and  fear" — I  brought  out  this  last  shame- 
ful word  with  a  great  effort — "are  having  a  bad 
effect." 

"Fear?"  repeated  Mr.  King  under  his  breath, 
looking  at  me  strangely. 

"Yes,"  I  whispered,  "fear." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  muttered  Mr.  King,  paling  visi- 
bly, and  as  if  unconscious  that  he  was  speaking 
aloud. 

"Are  you  two  never  coming  ?"  shouted  Roddy. 

Ashamed  of  my  forgetfulness  I  ran  forward  and 
joined  the  child.  He  commanded  me  not  to  set  the 
fountain  playing. 

"That's  to  come  later,"  he  exclaimed,  "in  case 
we  want  to  try  the  Grace  Darling  in  wet  weather. 
The  spray  will  make  grand  rain,  won't  it?  Hurry 
up,  Tom,  please. 

Turning  to  urge  Mr.  King  to  haste  he  cried  out 
in  alarm,  for  this  usually  dependable  friend  had 
taken  out  his  pocket-knife  and  was  preparing  to  cut 
the  wires  of  the  cork. 

"Tom,  oh,  Tom!"  wailed  the  child,  in  an  agony 
of  alarm,  "what  are  you  thinkin'  of?  That's  the 
second  fool  thing  you've  done  to-day.  I  do  wish 
you'd  come  to !" 

Thus  adjured  Mr.  King  set  himself  seriously  to 
the  task  of  the  moment,  and,  thanks  to  his  ingenuity, 
the  difficulty  of  the  christening  was  overcome. 

"You  see,"  he  said  seriously  to  the  admiring 
Roddy,  "I'm  a  Baptist,  so  I  think  that  a  christening 
isn't  a  christening  unless  it's  thoroughly  done.  It's 
generally  a  pretty  mean  business,  one  quart  of  cham- 
pagne to  a  great  big  man-of-war!  But  this  is  no 
such  slouch  affair,  Rodgers-with-a-d,  and  don't  you 

240 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

forget  it!  We'll  regularly  immerse  the  Grace  Dar- 
ling in  the  foaming,  flowing  bowl.  You  just  watch 
— and  see !" 

So  saying  he  tied  one  end  of  his  handkerchief 
around  the  neck  of  the  bottle,  and  bidding  me,  in  a 
whispered  aside,  to  be  sure  and  strike  against  the 
stone  edge  of  the  basin,  himself  took  charge  of  the 
launching.  Rodgers,  relegated  to  the  position  of 
spectator,  stood  aside,  while  Mr.  King,  kneeling 
down,  held  the  little  craft  at  the  basin's  edge.  The 
word  was  given,  smash  went  the  bottle,  and  beneath 
a  fountain  of  champagne  the  Grace  Darling  floated 
proudly  out  upon  the  water.  Roddy  rent  the  air 
with  yells  of  delight,  and  for  a  time  we  all  three 
devoted  our  entire  attention  to  the  sailing  of  the 
new  toy.  Then  Mr.  King  and  I,  content  to  be  au- 
dience, retired  to  the  neighboring  bench,  and  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  ask  an  explanation  of.  the  desire 
just  shown  by  Mr.  Lannion  to  get  me  out  of  the 
house. 

"They  are  anxious  to  have  me  out  of  the  way  this 
morning,"  I  said.  "I  wish  to  go  back  now  and  find 
out  why.  Have  you  orders  to  keep  me  here,  Mr. 
King?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  was  the  frank  answer,  "and  I 
don't  mind  doing  it,  because  you  might  as  well  be 
here  as  there — so  far  as  your  comfort  is  concerned." 

"Are  strangers  coming  ?"  I  asked. 

Mr.  King  shook  his  head.  "As  far  as  helping 
yourself  out  of  this  hole,"  he  said  gloomily,  "you 
might  as  well  be  here  as  there.  No  one  at  Or- 
nith  Farm  will  do  you  any  more  service  in  that 
line  than  I.  And  may  God  have  mercy  on  my 
soul" — he  took  off  his  hat,  his  voice  was  low  and 
reverent — "as  upon  the  souls  of  all  unwilling 
sinners." 

A  long  silence  followed  this  despondent  outburst. 
241 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNiTH    FARM 

"May  I  know  what  is  going  on  at  the  house,  Mr. 
King  ?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"You  might  as  well  now,"  he  said  dully.  "I 
suppose  you  heard  the  carriage  drive  away?"  I 
nodded.  "Aileen  Lucas  is  being  taken  to  town." 

"What?"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "Why,  I 
thought  her  unable  to  move." 

"She  hasn't  moved,"  said  Mr.  King.  "She's  be- 
ing carried,  on  an  especially  arranged  mattress — or 
set  of  springs — or  the  deuce  knows  what !  I  didn't 
trouble  to  inquire.  The  truth  is,  Lannion  had  to  do 
something.  Lucas  was  killed  in  a  gambling  row 
over  two  weeks  ago.  Yes,  of  course  you're  sur- 
prised," he  continued,  as  I  cried  out  in  amazement, 
"for  she  had  to  be  kept  in  the  dark  as  long  as  pos- 
sible." 

"But  his  letters  ?"  I  cried.  Then  remembered  her 
late  uneasiness  over  their  cessation. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  King,  "she  had  to  be  told 
finally,  but  Lannion  wanted  time  to  see  if  her  father 
and  mother  would  come  forward  and  take  her  back. 
(They  cut  up  rough  over  her  marrying  Lucas; 
she  made  a  runaway  match  of  it.)  Letters  came 
yesterday  morning.  Lannion  broke  the  news  to 
her  himself.  Her  parents  came  to  N'York  to 
meet  her.  I  suppose  she'll  stand  the  trip;  it  may 
be  kill  or  cure!  She  was  too  upset  over  Lucas's 
death  to  see  you — but  she  left  good-bye.  She's  a 
warm-hearted  girl.  Henrietta  Despard's  gone  with 
her,  but  she'll  be  back  to-morrow." 

I  sat  very  still,  ashamed  of  the  thoughts  that 
would  surge  uppermost.  For  my  sympathy  was 
marred  by  the  selfish  anxiety  that  she  might  talk  of 
me  to  those  who  would  inquire  into  my  story.  Mr. 
King,  watching  me  closely,  read  what  was  passing 
in  my  mind  and  shook  his  head. 

"No  use  hoping,"  he  said  softly.  "She's  been 
242 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

persuaded  that  it  will  hurt  you  later  if  your  present 
condition  becomes  known." 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  faltered. 

Mr.  King  colored  hotly,  then  grew  very  pale.  "I 
hate  to  tell  you,"  he  whispered,  "it  shows  such 
damnable  cunning.  And  I  admired  his  craft  once," 
he  continued,  speaking  vehemently,  although  always 
in  low  tones.  "I  stood  in  awe  of  his  quick  brain! 
I  liked  him,  too.  Everybody  likes  him  when  he  in- 
tends that  they  shall;  which  is  when  he  wants  to 
have  dealings  with  them,  and  means  to  use  them  for 
his  own  advantage.  He's  got  an  infernal  way  of 
making  you  feel  that  you're  the  most  interesting 
man  in  the  world  to  him;  that  it's  you,  and  you 
alone,  upon  whom  he  depends;  that  it's  just  you, 
and  you  only,  whom  he  feels  he  can  trust.  'You're 
my  real  friend,'  that  manner  of  his  seems  to  say, 
'the  other  fellows  are  only  side-shows.  I'm  civil  to 
them  because  I  have  to  be,  but  you — '  Oh,  it 
makes  me  sick  to  think  of  the  way  I've  been  per- 
suaded into  making  an  evil  ass  of  myself!" 

"Is  Delcie  coming  back  ?"  I  asked  irrelevantly,  a 
new  dread  darting  into  my  mind. 

"No,  she  isn't,"  was  the  abrupt  reply.  "And  he's 
fixed  her,  too — through  her  love  for  you,  damn 
him!" 

"I  beg  you  to  explain,"  I  said  gravely.  "I  think 
that  I  ought  to  know." 

Roddy  had  lifted  the  Grace  Darling  from  the 
water,  and  was  carrying  her  to  the  end  of  the  north 
path  where  an  under-gardener  was  at  work.  Mr. 
King  looked  keenly  around,  then  said  in  a  hard,  ex- 
pressionless tone: 

"It's  just  this.  It  would  be  wrong  to  let  the 
shadow  of  past  lunacy  darken  your  future  life.  It's 
on  the  principle  of  give  a  dog  a  bad  name — and  so 
forth.  This  is  what  has  been  dinned  into  the  ears 

243 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

of  Aileen  and  the  colored  woman.  If  they  tell, 
they're  mean  to  you.  Sooner  than  hurt  you  they'll 
hold  their  tongues  till  doomsday.  That's  his  infer- 
nal cunning.  He  banks  on  their  affection  for  you. 
Through  it  he's  safe.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me 
like  that" — his  excitement  was  painful — "I'm  not 
going  to  keep  up  the  farce  any  longer.  You  are 
just  who  you  say  you  are.  And  I  can't  move  hand 
or  foot  to  help  you !" 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  understand  why  he 
could  not  go  at  once  to  the  police  and  inform  them 
of  my  whereabouts.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"If  some  one  would  only  get  word  to  my  friends 
— or  the  police!"  I  whispered  tentatively.  "It 
would  be  quite  fair.  Mr.  Lannion  knows  that  you 
disapprove  of  his  keeping  me  here."  Mr.  King 
stared  at  me.  I  failed  to  comprehend  the  expres- 
sion in  his  odd,  round  eyes.  "Do  they  search  for 
me  still  ?"  He  nodded.  "I  am  not  thought  dead  ?" 
He  shook  his  head  slowly.  Then  he  spoke,  but  so 
softly  that  I  had  difficulty  in  hearing. 

"I  went  away  to  make  sure — to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  the  matter,"  he  whispered.  "Pinkerton's  men 
are  on  it.  There's  a  big  reward  offered.  It  seems 
that  an  old  woman " 

"Katie  ?"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "She  won't  believe  but  that  you 
were  picked  up.  And  Max  Errol" — ("Ah!"  I 
ejaculated  involuntarily) — "has  sworn  to  keep  up 
the  search  as  long  as  he  lives." 

I  laughed  softly,  triumphantly;  then  my  breath 
was  caught  by  a  sob. 

"Don't  laugh,"  said  Mr.  King  solemnly,  "but  get 
down  on  your  knees  and  pray  God  to  take  the  matter 
out  of  the  sleuths'  hands  and  into  His  own !" 

I  lifted  my  tear-blurred  eyes  to  his  face  in  wonder. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  speaking  with  the  same  sup- 
pressed vehemence,  "you  may  think  that  these  men 

244 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

are  but  His  instruments.  Not  so.  Not  in  the  case 
of  Rollis  Lannion.  Unless,  by  the  justice  of  God, 
he  dies  before  the  detectives  learn  of  your  where- 
abouts  " 

He  broke  off  and,  rising,  walked  the  length  of  the 
open  space.  Returning  he  stooped  over  me  and  said 
slowly,  "There  are  times  when  I  think  of  killing 
him  myself." 

"No,  no,"  I  whispered,  in  quick  protest,  "don't 
think  of  anything  so  horrible!  If  only  you  would 
contrive  to  let  me  send  word  to  Max " 

I  stopped,  for  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  peach,"  he  said  decidedly,  "and  I  haven't 
the  courage  to  shoot  him.  He  took  me  out  of  the 
gutter — he's  been  a  friend  to  me  in  his  way.  If 
he  sees  things  different  from  other  folks  that's  no 
reason  why  we,  who've  benefited  by  it,  should  go 
back  on  him.  If  only  he  had  left  you  alone,  instead 
of  pouncing  upon  you  like  a  wild  beast !" 

For  a  time  neither  of  us  spoke.  My  momentary 
belief  that  help  was  coming  was  dying. 

"It  was  you  who  told  Roddy  he  was  a  were-wolf  ?" 
I  asked  at  last. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  King.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

I  told  him,  listlessly,  of  the  child's  nightmare. 

"He  must  have  got  that  notion  from  poor  Dai- 
meret — owner  of  the  schooner  that  brought  you 
here,"  he  went  on,  in  answer  to  the  question  in  my 
eyes.  "He  and  Lannion  were  hand  and  glove.  Lan- 
nion was  on  his  way  back  from  Canada,  where  he'd 
been  on  a  business  trip  with  Daimeret,  when  he 
picked  you  up.  Daimeret  came  down  by  rail — busi- 
ness again — while  Rollis  brought  the  schooner. 
Daimeret  was  a  French  Canadian,  and  a  good  sort. 
Played  with  the  boy  a  lot  when  he  was  here  in  the 
winter." 

"Was?"  I  inquired.  "Was  a  good  sort?  Is  he 
dead?"  245 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "The  storm  that  fol- 
lowed your  arrival — you  recollect?  Well,  it  sent 
him  with  his  schooner  and  all  on  board  to  Davy's 
Locker." 

"Loison!"  I  exclaimed,  distressed.  "Poor  Loi- 
son!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  King,  "you  saw  her,  of 
course.  She  was  queer.  After  her  husband  died 
she  always  went  by  his  name,  Loison.  Dropped  her 
own.  She  was  chock-full  of  superstitions,  too." 

"Loup-garou !"  I  murmured,  thinking  aloud. 

"Like  as  not,"  said  Mr.  King,  sinking  down  be- 
side me  as  if  too  weary  to  stand.  "She  hated  Lan- 
nion — I  don't  know  why.  He's  a  powerful  brute, 
God  knows,  and  an  ugly  one.  Yes,"  he  mused,  "and 
his  strength  used  to  fascinate  me,  strength  of  body 
and  intellect  and  will.  Yes,  will  power,  and  a  some- 
thing about  him  that  makes  him  able  to  dominate 
men.  Yet  he's  a  flat  failure,  because  he's  used  his 
talents " 

He  broke  off  with  a  short  laugh.  "Who  am  I," 
he  said  scornfully,  "to  be  counting  up  the  motes  in 
my  brother's  eyes  when  my  own  are  so  full  of  beams 
I  can't  see  straight !" 

There  came  the  sound  of  Roddy's  eager  foot-fall 
and  the  child  appeared,  happy  and  excited  still. 

"Say,  you  two,"  he  cried,  the  moment  he  caught 
sight  of  us,  "will  you  come  on  down  to  the  stables  ? 
I  want  to  show  my  boat  to  Cooper." 

"He's  not  there,"  said  Mr.  King,  surveying  the 
child  wistfully,  as  though  envying  him  his  light 
heart.  "Better  stay  here  and  I'll  tell  you  a  story." 

"What  about?"  demanded  Roddy. 

"About  a  boy  who  had  dinner-plates  for  front 
teeth."  Roddy's  grin  widened.  "No,  no,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  With-a-d,  I  really  d  u  do,"  cried  Mr.  King, 
feigning  to  be  in  a  paroxysm  of  embarrassment  over 

246 


THE   PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

his  slip.  "It  was  tombstones  I  meant  to  say,  tomb- 
stones for  front  teeth — "  He  broke  off  with  a  gasp 
of  horror,  his  broad  babylike  face  wearing  so  comi- 
cal an  expression  of  dismay  at  his  lack  of  tact,  that, 
in  spite  of  my  own  miserable  thoughts,  I  joined  in 
Roddy's  delighted  laughter. 

"There  you  go,"  said  the  promoter  of  our  mirth, 
"a-laughin'  your  heads  off  at  your  elders.  Once 
upon  a  time  some  naughty  children  like  you  two 
was  eat  up  by  bears,  for  poking  fun  at  a  bald-headed 
gentleman  like  myself — I  think  I  hear  them  growl- 
ing now !" 

"No,  you  don't,"  began  Roddy ;  who  then  held  up 
his  hand,  enjoining  silence.  "Hush!"  he  said,  "I 
heard  the  gate,"  and  he  ran  to  peep  down  the  path. 
"It's  Uncle  Rollis!"  he  whispered,  coming  back  on 
tiptoe  to  deliver  this  piece  of  news,  "I  shall  skip." 
Then,  leaning  confidentially  against  Mr.  King's 
knee,  he  added:  "It's  not  a  bear  that  he  looks  like, 
no,  sir-ree !  But  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  that 
any  more;  Pop  said  I  mustn't."  And  he  slipped 
away  down  a  side  path  as  Mr.  Lannion's  step  was 
heard  close  at  hand. 

Mr.  King  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets, 
stretched  out  his  legs  and,  all  in  a  moment,  became 
the  picture  of  lazy  contentment. 

"Well,  Rollis,  old  man,  here  you  are!"  he  ex- 
claimed as  Mr.  Lannion  emerged  into  the  hot  sun- 
shine. "Come  and  sit  down;  we'll  make  room  for 
you.  It's  nice  in  this  damp  shade." 

Mr.  Lannion  was  manifestly  well  pleased  by  the 
heartiness  of  Mr.  King's  greeting.  It  was  quite  ap- 
parent to  me  that  he  had  not  expected  to  be  wel- 
comed, and  that  he  felt  relieved  by  the  other's 
friendly  mood.  Following  the  lead,  I  moved  and 
made  room,  but  I  kept  beside  Mr.  King.  Seated 
thus,  in  the  middle  of  the  bench,  I  was  enabled  to 

247 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   EAKM 

watch  both  men  as  they  talked  together.     Mr.  Lan- 
nion  observed  me  closely.    Mr.  King  spoke  again : 

"You  needn't  look  to  see  if  she's  in  a  fitting  state 
to  hear  your  news,  Roily,"  he  said  with  good-natured 
carelessness,  "for  I  up  and  told  her  myself.  Hence 
those  traces  of  tears  already  dried." 

"That  was  just  like  you,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Lan- 
nion;  "you're  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  always! 
I  might  have  known  that  you  would  stand  my 
friend." 

He  spoke  with  a  frank  heartiness  of  appreciation 
that  was  very  nattering.  It  seemed  an  outburst  of 
genuine  admiration  and  friendly  affection,  coming 
straight  from  the  heart.  I  glanced  at  Mr.  King, 
remembering  his  description  of  Mr.  Lannion's  win- 
ning manner.  How  might  he  be  impressed?  He 
withdrew  his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  waved  it 
deprecatingly ;  he  did  not  look  at  his  genial  host. 

"Don't  mention  it,  Roily;  don't  mention  it!"  he 
murmured  modestly. 

Mr.  Lannion,  apparently  satisfied,  transferred  his 
entire  attention  to  me. 

"They  are  almost  unnoticeable,"  he  said  earnestly, 
"painted  white,  and  of  a  really  graceful  shape." 

I  looked  at  his  anxious  face  in  wonder.  Of  what 
was  he  speaking? 

"Many  people  in  the  suburbs  have  them,"  he  con- 
tinued, "even  on  their  drawing-room  windows.  You 
will  forget  they  are  there,  after  a  day  or  two." 

"If  we  might  know  the  subject  of  this  eloquent 
discourse,  Lannion,"  Mr.  King  remarked  with  airy 
politeness,  "doubtless  we  should  (being  persons  of 
really  elegant  manners)  now  make  the  fluent  and 
beautiful  comments  that  you  evidently  (and,  Lord 
knows,  very  naturally)  expect" 

"I  thought  you  said  that  you  had  told  her  ?"  said 
Mr.  Lannion. 

248 


THE   PKISOKEK   OF   OENITH   FAKM 

"Not  about  articles  of  luxury  much  prized  in  sub- 
urban villas,"  was  the  soft-voiced  reply. 

"What  then?"  asked  Mr.  Lannion,  and  I  knew 
that  it  was  an  effort  for  him  not  to  speak  sharply. 
"What  did  you  tell  the  child  ?" 

"I  informed  the" — Mr.  King  hesitated — "the — 
child  of  Mrs.  Lucas's  departure." 

"Indeed !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Lannion,  but  he  said 
nothing  further,  and  Mr.  King,  after  waiting  a  mo- 
ment, sighed  deeply  and  glanced  carelessly  toward 
me.  I  understood  this  to  mean  that  it  was  now  my 
turn,  and  without  circumlocution  asked  a  blunt 
question. 

"What  is  it  that  you  have  had  done  that  is  so 
disagreeable,  Mr.  Lannion?" 

He  flushed  uncomfortably.  Then  said  deprecat- 
ingly:  "It  was  because  of  your  objection  to  Zayma, 
dear,  I  had  to  arrange  matters  somehow " 

He  ceased  speaking  as  if  he  dared  not  proceed 
further. 

"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make — nor  iron  bars 
a  cage,"  said  Mr.  King  gently. 

"Bars  ?"  I  cried,  springing  to  my  feet  and  facing 
Mr.  Lannion.  "Bars — on  my  windows?  Oh,  how 
dare  you,  how  dare  you!"  I  stamped  my  foot.  I 
was  almost  beside  myself  with  anger  and  terror. 
"Barred  in!  How  horrible!  But  I  will  not  sub- 
mit; do  you  hear  me,  Mr.  Lannion?  I  will  not 
endure  this !" 

The  two  had  risen.  Mr.  King's  face  was  per- 
fectly expressionless;  Mr.  Lannion's  harsh  features 
were  set  like  iron. 

"You  are  thinking  of  fire,"  said  Mr.  Lannion 
quietly,  "but  there  is  no  danger.  The  bars  are  in 
a  frame  which  locks — and  I  have  the  key.  You  need 
feel  no  alarm,." 

I  felt  suddenly  very  odd  and  faint.  The  trees 
249 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH  FARM 

began  to  sway — yet  no  breeze  fanned  my  cheek. 
How  might  I  get  back  to  the  house  ? 

Mr.  King  stepped  forward  and  drew  my  hand  be- 
neath his  arm. 

"If  you'll  just  fetch  a  glass  of  wine,  Lannion," 
he  said.  "I  think  you  can  get  it  here  in  time." 

Mr.  Lannion  began  a  remonstrance;  he  preferred 
that  Mr.  King  should  go,  but  the  latter  cut  him 
short. 

"We  will  follow  slowly,"  he  said  in  quiet  tones, 
"but  I  must  help  her — since  you  have  chosen  to  cross 
the  Rubicon." 


250 


XXII 

The  bars  were  not  placed  horizontally  across  the 
windows,  but  up  and  down,  converging  to  a  point  at 
the  top.  They  were  painted  white  and  gilded  at 
the  edges.  Fastened  together  upon  a  frame,  they 
swung  open  when  unlocked  very  much  like  an  inside 
shutter.  And  they  were  far  enough  apart  to  admit 
of  one's  thrusting  hand  and  arm  between  them  easily, 
so  that  the  window  could  be  readily  opened  and  closed. 
But  their  innocent  appearance  did  nothing  to  miti- 
gate my  horror  at  being  locked  in  behind  them,  and 
I  could  not  bear  to  stay  long  in  my  room. 

Because  of  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Despard  and  Aileen 
I  disliked  remaining  in  the  house  or  upon  the  ve- 
randa, and  early  in  the  afternoon  I  wandered  down  to 
the  stables  to  see  the  horses.  Nanny  followed  close 
at  my  heels,  but  directly  she  found  that  Cooper  was 
at  liberty  to  look  after  me  she  returned  to  the  house, 
pleading  unfinished  tasks. 

"I  calliate  she's  'fraid  of  her  auntie,"  Cooper  re- 
marked mildly,  as  she  hastened  away;  "and  I  ain't 
so  sure  but  what  I  am,  too,  I  swan  I  ain't !"  He 
smiled  gently,  as  he  made  this  admission  of  coward- 
ice. "Zayma's  a  vixen,  Zayma  is,"  he  continued 
thoughtfully,  "an'  as  Mr.  King  was  sayin'  only 
t'other  day,  she'd  ha'  been  burned  as  a  witch  if  she'd 
lived  in  old  times — and  Ebenezer  along  with  her. 
Mr.  King,"  he  went  on,  "has  gone  off  with  the  grays 
an'  them  two  gentlemen."  (It  did  not  surprise  me 
that  Cooper  mentioned  the  horses  first.)  "Mr.  King 
wanted  Nonie  and  Abbie,  but  I  giv'  him  the  grays. 

251 


THE    PRISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

Mr.  King  he  said  he'd  always  had  to  put  up  -with 
second-best.  He  must  have  been  a  mighty  funny 
minister — are  you  a  Baptist,  miss  ?" 

I  said  that  I  was  not. 

"Nor  me  neither.  I'm  a  Presbyterian,  leastways 
I  was  when  a  boy" — his  voice  became  tinged  with 
melancholy — "but  there's  no  use  thinkin'  about  that ! 
Mr.  King,  as  I  was  sayin' " — dismissing  his  own 
past  with  resolution — "must  have  been  a  funny 
minister.  'I  never  try  to  help  folks,  Cooper,'  he 
says,  'but  I  do  more  harm  than  good.  I'd  better  let 
them  be.  When  I  was  in  the  ministry,'  he  says,  'I 
tried  to  pay  out  an  old  cuss  who  made  his  daughter's 
life  a  hell  on  earth,'  says  he,  'an'  what  come  of  it?' 
he  says;  'why,  I  got  the  sack.  It  was  like  this, 
Cooper,'  he  says,  says  he,  'the  old  man  got  religion 
and  was  all  for  jinin'  the  church  to  wash  away  his 
sins.  An'  he  chose  the  Baptist,  I  s'pose,'  Mr.  King 
says,  says  he,  'because  of  his  need  of  a  lot  of  water 
for  the  purpose,  his  sins  bein'  double-dyed,  so  to 
speak,'  says  Mr.  King.  It  was  two  weeks  before 
the  immersion — that's  what  Mr.  King  called  it — 
that  Mr.  King  himself  got  took  with  queer  attacks, 
kinder  spasms  of  pray  in'.  He'd  get  agoin',  he  says, 
and  he  couldn't  seem  to  let  up  till  he'd  prayed  out. 
Have  you  ever  been  in  one  of  them  Baptist  churches  ?" 

I  said  that  I  had  not. 

"Nor  me  neither,"  continued  Cooper ;  "but  as  Mr. 
King  giv'  me  to  understand,  there's  a  big  tank  with 
steps  leadin'  down  into  it  an'  up  from  it,  in  a  room 
just  back  of  the  pulpit.  The  minister  he  gets  into 
a  kind  of  rubber  suit  under  his — well,  whatever  he 
wears — an'  the  feller  what's  going  to  be  immersed 
wears  somethin'  loose  that  ain't  water-tight,  and 
into  the  tank  they  go.  Well,  what  do  you  s'pose 
happened  when  Mr.  King  was  immersin'  that  old 
sinner  ?" 

252 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   FARM 

"I  cannot  imagine,"  I  said  listlessly,  though  striv- 
ing to  appear  interested. 

"  'I  no  sooner  got  his  head  well  under,'  says  Mr. 
King,  says  he" — Cooper  chuckled  irreverently — 
"  'than  I  was  took  with  one  of  them  strange  attacks 
of  mine.  I  begun  prayin'  an'  I  couldn't  seem  either 
to  let  up  on  my  prayers  or  to  let  up  that  repentant 
old  gentleman.  I  giv'  you  my  word,  Cooper,'  says 
Mr.  King,  says  he,  'the  relatives  of  the  old  party 
had  to  wade  in — in  their  best  clothes,  too — an'  un- 
loose my  iron  grasp  upon  his  collar!  Fact,'  says 
Mr.  King,  he  says,  'however  deplorable.  But  he 
didn't  take  cold,  Cooper,'  he  says,  'for  the  moment 
he  could  breathe,  his  language  became  that  hot  that, 
I  giv'  you  my  word,  I  smelled  sulphur,  I  did  indeed.' 
Mr.  King  must  have  been  a  mighty  funny  min- 
ister." 

Cooper  stared  at  me  meditatively.  "An'  he's 
been,  so  they  say,  a  variety  show  artist,  too.  I'm 
goin'  into  the  harness  room  to  fetch  a  saddle.  Will 
you  come  along?  If  you  don't  mind!" 

"A  side-saddle !"  I  said,  looking  on  in  surprise  as 
he  lifted  one  down.  "Why,  Cooper,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?" 

But  Cooper's  mind  was  still  upon  Mr.  King. 
"So  he  says  he  ain't  never  tried  to  help  any  one  but 
he  let  'em  in  for  a  worse  time.  Th'  old  man  cut  up 
rougher  than  ever  after  bein'  most  drowned ;  an'  Mr. 
King  he  got  notice  to  quit,  he  says,  an'  had  to  leave 
the  girl  to  her  fate.  Which  means,  I  guess,"  com- 
mented Cooper,  standing  clutching  the  saddle  in  the 
doorway,  "that  he  was  sweet  on  her,  but  havin'  nothin' 
to  offer  had  to  get  out.  This  saddle  ?"  suddenly  re- 
membering my  question.  "For  Ashtie.  To  be  put 
on  every  day  for  two  weeks  to  get  her  accustomed — 
when  she's  to  be  sold.  Mr.  Lannion  wants  to  be  rid 
of  her.  She's  eatin'  her  head  off,  he  says,  an'  nothin' 

253 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

to  show  for  her  keep.  She  tried  to  eat  me  some 
yesterday."  He  laid  down  the  saddle,  and  rolling 
up  one  of  his  shirt  sleeves,  disclosed  a  wide  purple 
mark  upon  his  upper  arm.  "Ashtie's  teeth,"  he  re- 
marked quietly.  "You  can  most  count  'em,  she 
grabbed  so  tight."  He  sighed  deeply  as  he  drew  the 
sleeve  over  the  bruise.  "I  don't  blame  her  none," 
he  said,  with  the  tolerance  that  accompanies  resig- 
nation to  incurable  evils.  "She's  vicious  because 
she  was  broke  wrong.  It's  the  same  with  Mr.  King, 
I  guess.  He  must  have  been  wrong  brought  up. 
He's  an  awful  pleasant  man ;  but  he  must  have  been 
badly  broke,  or  he'd  been  a  minister  yet.  I'm  usin' 
the  side-saddle,"  he  continued,  "because  she  may 
calliate  to  rub  it  off  by  rollin',  an'  this  was  bought 
second-hand,  and  anyway  ain't  needed,  no  lady  wish- 
ing  to- 

He  here  remembered  that  I  did  wish  to  ride,  and, 
without  finishing  his  sentence,  picked  up  the  saddle 
again  and  betook  himself  to  Ashtaroth's  box  stall.  I 
followed,  wondering  if  Mr.  King  had  endeavored  to 
help  me — and  increased  the  difficulties  of  my  posi- 
tion! I  did  not  wonder  at  Mr.  Lannion's  breaking 
his  word  in  regard  to  selling  Ashtaroth. 

"She's  giv'  me  no  trouble  about  bridlin'  her," 
Cooper  announced,  pausing  to  look  at  the  mare 
through  the  bars  above  her  door  before  entering,  "but 
I  just  slipped  in  a  snaffle — thought  even  the  feel  of 
a  curb  might  send  her  off ;  she's  terrible  tetchy  lately. 
The  hot  weather,  I  guess." 

Ashtaroth  looked  apathetic.  She  stood  very  still, 
her  head  a-droop,  making  no  movement  to  rid  herself 
of  the  bridle,  the  reins  of  which  were  knotted  well 
up  out  of  harm's  way. 

"She  seems  quiet  enough,"  I  said,  observing  her 
closely. 

"Can't  never  tell  by  looks,"  was  the  unhopeful 

254 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

answer,  and  Cooper,  unfastening  the  door,  walked 
quickly  to  the  mare's  side. 

The  stall  had  two  doors;  one  leading  into  the 
stable,  the  other  opening  upon  the  road  outside.  Be- 
fore Cooper  noticed  what  I  was  about,  I  entered  after 
him,  and  crossing  directly  to  the  outer  door,  took  up 
my  station  beside  it. 

"For  Gawd's  sake!"  he  exclaimed,  catching  sight 
of  me  just  as  he  placed  the  saddle  on  the  mare. 

"I'm  all  right,"  I  cried  reassuringly,  while  I  un- 
bolted the  door  and  laid  my  hand  on  the  knob;  "I 
can  dash  out  in  an  instant." 

Ashtaroth  gave  no  sign  of  evil  temper,  sub- 
mitting to  the  adjustment  of  the  saddle  like  a  lamb. 
Cooper  began  to  fasten  the  first  girth  warily. 

"There  she  goes !"  he  ejaculated  mournfully,  giv- 
ing a  careless  tug  at  the  girth.  "See  her  swell  her- 
self out !  It's  a  reg'lar  trick  o'  her'n !" 

I  ran  forward  and,  catching  the  off-pommel,  held 
the  saddle  firm.  Astaroth  made  no  objection,  but  as 
my  presence  only  served  to  paralyze  Cooper,  I  had 
to  withdraw  to  my  former  position  and  become  again 
a  mere  spectator  by  the  outer  door.  The  second  girth 
was  now  fastened  as  slackly  as  the  first.  The  saddle 
was  on.  Very  loosely,  it  is  true,  but  still  it  was  in 
place.  The  third  girth,  the  one  that  keeps  the  flaps 
down,  was  scarcely  buckled  by  Cooper's  limp  un- 
willing fingers,  when  one  of  the  gardeners  appeared 
at  the  inner  door  of  the  stall.  He  was  extremely 
angry.  Cooper  had  borrowed  his  favorite  rake  with- 
out asking  permission,  and  had  failed  to  replace  it. 

"I  calliate  I  did  forgit  all  about  it,"  Cooper  ac- 
knowledged meekly,  "but  I'll  get  it  right  now,  if 
you'll  come  along.  It's  just  'round  the  corner  of  the 
far  stall." 

Glancing  at  me  to  see  if  I  were  really  in  no  danger 
from  the  mare's  heels,  he  hurried  out  and  I  was  left 

255 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORKETH   FARM 

in  the  stall  alone.  I  opened  the  outer  door  softly, 
and  taking  the  mare  by  the  bridle,  led  her  across  the 
threshold.  Then  I  did  what,  in  spite  of  my  early 
training,  I  believe  would  have  been  at  any  other 
time  impossible.  Laying  my  hand  lightly  upon  the 
second  pommel,  I  vaulted  into  the  insecurely  girthed 
saddle,  desperation  doubling  my  strength. 

In  an  instant  Ashtaroth  was  off;  plunging,  rear- 
ing, striving  furiously  to  rid  herself  of  her  burden. 
Failing,  she  started  on  a  flying  gallop  up  the  road 
toward  the  house.  By  the  time  we  reached  it  and 
rushed  past,  I  knew  that  I  was  upon  the  back  of  no 
fear-driven,  terror-blind  creature,  but  a  practised 
runaway.  And  because  of  this — if  the  saddle  did  not 
turn — I  might  hope  to  attain  the  freedom  I  sought. 
The  mare  would  run  herself  tired.  If  only  I  could 
keep  on !  She  was  heading  straight  for  the  highway, 
and  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  was  closed. 
Fortunately  this  was  not  very  high.  Ashtaroth  took 
the  leap  flying  and  swung  around  the  broad  curve 
into  the  high  road  with  a  skill  at  which  I  marvelled. 
I  managed  somehow  to  keep  myself  and  the  rapidly 
loosening  saddle  in  position,  and  on  we  sped. 

I  knew  that  we  should  be  instantly  pursued,  and  I 
knew,  also,  that  Nonios  was  fleeter  than  the  mare. 
He  and  Abates  were  both  in  the  stable,  but  they  had 
been  out  already  and  were  a  trifle  jaded,  while  the 
mare  was  fresh.  And  the  sound  of  following  hoof- 
beats  would  increase  her  speed.  What  menaced  us 
were  the  hills  down  which  we  must  go.  It  was  easy  for 
me  to  stick  on,  and  for  Ashtaroth  to  keep  up  her  even 
gallop,  so  long  as  we  remained  on  the  level ;  but  the 
moment  we  should  start  upon  our  downward  journey, 
she  might  lose  her  head  through  inability  to  check 
her  pace. 

As  we  neared  the  descent  I  again  strove  to  gain 
mastery  by  my  voice,  but  in  vain.  And  the  reins 

256 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

were  useless,  for  the  mare  had  taken  the  bit  in  her 
teeth.  In  another  instant  she  was  plunging  down 
hill.  What  I  had  feared  quickly  followed.  The 
levels  between  the  hills  were  so  short  as  to  be  almost 
unnoticeable ;  mere  breathing-places  for  the  up-climb- 
ing teams.  Ashtaroth  realized  her  danger  too  late. 
She  tried  to  check  herself  and,  failing,  became  crazed 
with  fear,  rushing  downward  like  a  mad  thing.  Her 
quick  indrawn  gasps  of  terror,  the  noise  of  the 
stones  spurned  by  her  hurrying  feet,  and  the  now 
irregular  strokes  of  her  hoofs  upon  the  road,  made  it 
impossible  for  me  to  hear  if  we  were  pursued.  Sud- 
denly we  rounded  a  corner — and  the  end  came. 

Just  in  front  of  us  the  road  flattened.  It  was  one 
of  the  resting-places.  Here  a  rough  drinking-trough 
caught  the  water  of  a  tiny  rivulet  that  else  must  have 
rippled  across  the  road.  The  storm  of  the  previous 
night  had  caused  the  trough  to  overflow,  and  the 
road  was  wet  and  muddy.  Ashtaroth's  feet  slipped ; 
she  slid  for  a  way,  struggling  frantically  to  right  her- 
self, then  lost  her  balance — and  fell.  Keenly  on  the 
watch  for  this — my  past  training  in  the  ring  now 
serving  me  in  good  stead — I  managed  to  spring  clear 
of  all  danger  before  she  struck  the  ground.  She  had 
crashed  flat  downward  and  slid  some  distance  upon 
her  knees  from  the  momentum  of  her  fall.  But  she 
was  up  and  away  almost  instantly,  maddened  to 
frenzy  by  the  saddle  that,  turning  as  she  rose,  now 
hung  beneath  her  belly.  Kicking,  screaming,  she 
disappeared  down  the  hill.  Above  the  noisy  clangor 
of  her  crazed  descent  I  heard  the  sound  of  hoof- 
beats  coming  from  the  opposite  direction.  The  chase 
was  on ! 

To  my  left  a  low  stone  wall  edged  a  stretch  of 
rough  fields,  where  many  little  knolls  and  up-crop- 
ping rocks  promised  hiding-places.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  road  was  a  thick  wood,  in  which  I  might, 

257 


perhaps,  escape  my  pursuers.  But  once  among  the 
trees,  I  should  be  out  of  reach  of  help  from  chance 
travellers  on  the  highway.  I  chose  the  fields. 

Climbing  the  wall  hastily,  and  running  down  the 
steep  incline,  I  came  almost  immediately  upon  a 
rocky  ledge  that  jutted  boldly  out  along  the  hillside. 
Skirting  this,  I  was  soon  below  it  and  thus  screened 
from  view.  Here  I  found  a  place  where,  by  kneel- 
ing upon  a  flat  projecting  bit  of  rock,  I  could  watch 
the  road,  myself  unseen  because  of  the  wild  growth 
in  the  crevices.  I  would  remain  quiet  until  those  who 
followed  passed  by,  and  then,  with  the  highway  for 
a  distant  guide,  I  might  make  my  way  through  the 
lonely  fields  to  the  first  farmhouse. 

As  the  flail-like  sound  of  the  hoof -beats  came  nearer 
and  nearer,  my  heart  began  to  throb  in  unison.  A 
rider  swept  around  the  shoulder  of  the  hill.  Mr. 
Lannion,  on  Nonios.  He  had  mounted  in  haste,  for 
he  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  the  horse  was  with- 
out a  saddle.  I  hoped  to  see  him  rush  by.  Instead, 
he  suddenly  pulled  Nonios  down  upon  his  haunches, 
dismounted,  looked  about  him  curiously,  then 
whistled  loud  and  clear.  In  almost  instant  answer 
to  this  summons  the  two  Great  Danes  came  bounding 
along  the  road,  while  close  behind  them  a  second 
horseman  appeared,  Solomon  Jasper.  Upon  reaching 
his  master  Jasper  also  dismounted  and  stooped  low, 
so  that  I  lost  sight  of  him  behind  the  intervening 
wall. 

I  now  believed  that  my  hope  of  escape  was  futile, 
since  my  slippers  had  probably  left  telltale  marks 
upon  the  damp  ground.  But  when  Jasper  again 
stood  upright,  and  Mr.  Lannion,  making  a  motion 
toward  the  distant  stretches  of  high-road  visible  from 
where  they  stood,  evidently  spoke  of  the  mare,  I  be- 
gan to  breathe  freely,  concluding  that  no  traces  of 
my  flight  into  the  meadow  had  been  found.  The 

258 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

dogs,  crossing  to  the  trough,  drank  noisily,  thirsty 
after  their  quick  run.  Then  Jasper  swung  himself 
upon  Abatos,  Mr.  Lannion  remounted,  my  heart 
stood  still.  What  would  they  do  ? 

I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Jasper  rode  on  in  pursuit 
of  Ashtaroth.  Mr.  Lannion  put  Nonios  at  the  low 
stone  wall,  leaped  it,  and  entered  the  field.  I  was 
again  a  captive. 

With  trembling  fingers  I  began  to  gather  the  sweet- 
smelling  bracken  that  grew  between  the  rocks.  I 
made  an  attempt  to  hum  a  tune,  but  could  not.  The 
two  dogs,  unwittingly  cruel,  came  scrambling  and 
bounding  to  my  side,  whimpering  with  delight  over 
the  chance  meeting.  And  Mr.  Lannion,  advised  of 
my  hiding-place,  rode  around  the  ridge  and  drew 
up  beside  my  projecting  platform.  I  did  not  greet 
him.  Instead,  I  busied  myself  warding  off  the  play- 
ful Osiris,  who  wished  to  worry  my  lapful  of  ferns. 
Without  raising  my  eyes  I  knew  that  I  was  being 
closely  inspected. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  Mr.  Lannion  said  at  last. 
"But  how  you  escaped  I  do  not  know !" 

"I  have  not  escaped,"  I  made  answer  bitterly.  "I 
am  a  prisoner  still." 

Mr.  Lannion  sighed.  "You  are  very  hard  upon 
me,  Hope,"  he  said. 

I  looked  at  him,  and  he  smiled  sadly,  as  if,  in 
very  truth,  he  felt  himself  a  wronged  man.  He  was 
haggard,  pale  in  spite  of  the  heat,  his  rough  brown 
hair  was  in  disorder,  and  because  of  his  undress  he 
had  a  wild  appearance.  But,  as  always,  he  looked 
like  a  gentleman.  Why  I  disliked  him  the  more  for 
this  I  did  not  know.  I  averted  my  eyes  and  began 
to  weave  a  wreath  of  my  bracken. 

"I  shall  make  you  each  a  collar,"  I  announced  to 
the  dogs  who  had  crowded  down  close  on  either  side. 
"But  yours,"  I  said  to  the  encroaching  Osiris,  who 

259 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

insisted  upon  poking  his  inquiring  nose  among  the 
fronds,  "will  be  very  ragged  if  you  won't  stop  being 
naughty." 

Osiris  lifted  his  big  head  and  gently  swabbed  my 
cheek  with  an  affectionate  but  over-moist  tongue. 
His  black  muzzle  was  still  covered  with  drops  from 
the  drinking-trough.  Nonios,  believing  that  my 
pockets  never  lacked  sugar,  now  demanded  attention. 
Hermes,  resenting  an  infringement  upon  what  he 
considered  the  rights  of  dogs,  growled  long  and  low. 
I  tapped  his  nose  with  a  waving  fern  and  remon- 
strated. He  laid  a  huge  dun  paw  on  my  knee  and 
thumped  his  tail  deprecatingly. 

"You  old  goose !"  I  said  caressingly.  "Come,  let 
us  sing  together !" 

"No,  no,"  interposed  Mr.  Lannion,  who  had 
watched  the  scene  with  a  strangely  wistful  look; 
"you  must  not  sing  here.  And  it  is  time  to  go 
home." 

"Home!"  I  echoed  scornfully.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet,  letting  the  bracken  fall,  and  began  to  sing, 
hoping  that  I  might  thus  attract  attention,  should  any 
one  be  near  enough  to  hear.  But  Mr.  Lannion  held 
up  his  hand  so  threateningly,  there  came  into  his 
eyes  so  terrifying  an  expression,  that  my  voice  died 
in  my  throat. 

"Listen,"  he  said  sternly,  "and  understand  that 
I  mean  what  I  say.  If  you  refuse  to  come  with  me 
willingly,  I  shall  use  force.  If  you  persist  in  sing- 
ing, I  shall  find  means  to  silence  you.  Now,  will 
you  come  ?" 

I  scanned  his  strongly  marked  features  earnestly. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  would  prefer  my  not  yield- 
ing ?  Could  it  be  that,  angered  by  my  effort  to  escape 
him,  he  might  find  a  cruel  satisfaction  in  treating 
me  roughly?  I  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder  to 
steady  myself,  and  let  him  lift  me  down  upon  the 

260 


horse's  back.  He  placed  me  in  front  of  him  and, 
holding  me  carefully,  turned  Nonios  toward  the  high- 
road. 

The  horse  bore  his  double  burden  bravely,  and 
started  up  the  grassy  slope  encouraged  by  Osiris, 
who  circled  before  us  barking.  I  wondered  that  Mr. 
Lannion  should  choose  to  return  thus  openly,  and  I 
searched  the  distances  eagerly,  hoping  still  for  a 
miracle  to  happen.  But  I  quickly  realized  that  my 
captor  knew  what  he  was  about,  when,  after  follow- 
ing the  wall  for  a  few  hundred  paces,  we  came  upon 
a  breach  through  which  we  passed.  Crossing  the 
highway  we  entered  the  little  forest  by  a  rough 
track  or  wood  road.  Turning  off  this  track  in  among 
the  trees,  Mr.  Lannion  headed  Nonios  toward  Ornith 
Farm.  His  sigh  of  relief  told  me  how  great  had  been 
his  previous  anxiety,  and  the  extent  of  his  satisfac- 
tion in  having  successfully  accomplished  a  dangerous 
task.  I  knew  also  that  to  a  man  of  his  neat  method- 
ical ways,  it  would  have  been  an  intense  mortification 
to  be  seen  by  any  one  in  so  disordered  a  dress.  It 
was  the  more  curious,  I  thought,  that  so  precise  a 
person  should  have  behaved  as  he  had  in  regard  to 
me. 

Nonios  picked  his  way  between  the  trees  cleverly. 
His  firm  tread  crushed  sweet  woodsy  odors  from 
moss  and  fern  as  he  wound  in  and  out.  The  after- 
noon was  hot  in  the  open ;  under  the  trees,  where  the 
ground  and  underbrush  were  still  damp  from  the  late 
storm,  the  atmosphere  was  oppressive,  enervating. 
Suddenly  the  intense  quiet,  broken  thus  far  only  by 
the  soft  thud  of  the  horse's  hoofs  and  the  snapping 
of  twigs  as  the  dogs  brushed  through  the  thicket,  was 
disturbed  by  the  report  of  a  pistol.  I  started  and 
looked  up  anxiously  at  Mr.  Lannion. 

"The  mare?"  J  questioned.  "She  has  injured 
herself?" 

261 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Perhaps,"  was  the  vague  response. 

I  listened.  Another  report.  Then  silence.  I  put 
my  hand  on  the  reins.  Nonios  came  to  a  halt.  I 
watched  Mr.  Lannion's  face. 

"Some  boy,  squirrel  shooting?"  I  suggested. 

Mr.  Lannion  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said  com- 
posedly, "you  guessed  correctly  at  first.  I  told  Jasper 
to  shoot  her.  She  has  done  harm  enough." 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "You  are  cruel,  cruel !" 
I  cried  indignantly.  "You  take  pleasure  in  giving 
pain!" 

"Why  blame  me?  I  am  not  the  one  in  fault?" 
He  looked  at  me  significantly. 

I  turned  my  face  away,  the  tears  brimmed  over. 

"Who  would  ride  her?"  he  continued,  starting 
Nonios  again.  "Who  unlocked  the  stable  door? 
Not  I,  surely." 

"You  are  right,"  I  faltered.  "I  am  the  one  to 
blame.  I  wish  you  would  tell  Jasper  to  shoot  me. 
I  am  so  tired  of  it  all !" 

Of  this  outburst  Mr.  Lannion  took  no  notice. 
Neither  did  he  try  to  soothe  or  comfort  me.  We 
rode  on  in  silence.  Presently,  with  a  reckless  dis- 
regard of  possible  consequences,  I  voiced  my  thoughts. 

"I  sometimes  wonder,"  I  said  wearily,  "that  you 
care  to  keep  up  the  pretence  of  being  in  love  with  me. 
You  never  try  to  make  me  like  you.  You  thwart 
me  constantly.  You  say  disagreeable,  even  insolent 
things.  You  treat  me  as  a  cross  child  treats  its  doll. 
I  believe  that  you  are  really  tired  of  me,  and  only  go 
on  keeping  me  here  and  insisting  that  you  love  me, 
because  you  are  too  obstinate  to  give  in,  and  own  up 
to  your  mistake." 

"I  regret  that  you  should  think  me  such  a  weakling 
as  not  to  know  my  own  mind,"  he  said  stiffly.  "And 
I  have  not  illtreated  you  in  any  way.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  have  done  my  best  to  please  you.  My  wonder 

262 


THE    PKISONEK    OF    OKNITH   FAKM 

is  that  I  have  failed.  I  generally  am  liked — when 
I  wish  to  be." 

As  he  spoke,  we  came  upon  another  wall  of  rough 
stones.  This  proved  to  be  the  boundary  of  Ornith 
Farm.  The  woods  extended,  I  knew,  but  a  short 
distance  beyond,  although  the  house,  with  the  broad 
sweep  of  open  land,  was  still  screened  from  view. 
Here  again  the  stones  of  the  wall  had,  in  one  place, 
been  pulled  down,  and  as  we  rode  through  the  gap, 
Mr.  Lannion  grumbled  over  the  laziness  of  ser- 
vants. 

"They  must  always  go  the  shortest  way,"  he  said 
severely,  "and  don't  in  the  least  mind  destroying  other 
people's  property.  If  you  won't  consider  it  'illtreat- 
ment'  on  my  part,  I  will  ask  you  to  wait  a  moment 
while  I  replace  these  stones." 

"I  would  rather  be  here  than  at  the  house,"  I  said. 
"It  is  something  to  be  out  of  sight  of  a  prison  for 
even  an  hour's  space." 

Mr.  Lannion  lifted  me  from  the  horse  and,  after 
tying  Nonios,  set  to  work.  I  wished  to  walk  about 
under  the  trees,  but  this  he  forbade. 

"If  you  will  kindly  stay  where  I  can  see  you,  the 
work  will  become  play,"  he  said  with  mock  gallantry. 

"Which  means,"  I  commented  gravely,  as  I  seated 
myself  on  the  wall  close  beside  the  opening,  "that 
you  fear  I  may  make  another  attempt  to  run  away." 

"Yes,"  he  said  simply,  and  went  on  piling  up  the 
stones  with  strong,  swift  exactitude. 

I  watched  him  in  silence,  thinking  that  I  never 
could  have  liked  him,  even  had  we  met  and  been 
thrown  together  under  different  circumstances.  No, 
never,  although  we  had  many  tastes  in  common;  for 
he  was  a  thorough  horseman,  and  he  was  fond  of 
music  and  of  a  country  life.  He  stopped  working 
and  looked  at  me. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts !"  he  said  gruffly. 

263 


THE   PKISONER    OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"A  whole  penny — for  a  girl's  thoughts?"  I  re- 
plied, raising  my  eyebrows.  "They  are  not  worth  so 
much,  Mr.  Lannion." 

"I  would  give  a  great  many  pennies  to  be  able  to 
read  yours/'  he  said.  "They  are  worth  much  to  me 
at  present." 

A  new  idea  flashed  into  my  mind.  Perhaps  what 
I  had  said  but  a  moment  before  in  mere  petulance, 
was  really  the  truth.  Perhaps  he  was  now  anxious 
to  send  me  home,  could  he  do  so  without  injury  to 
himself,  and  without  the  mortification  of  himself 
suggesting  it.  But  I  had  tried  him  past  endurance ; 
first  by  running  away,  then  by  rude  remarks.  He 
was  in  a  very  bad  humor,  and  this  would  increase 
his  natural  obstinacy — his  dislike  to  yielding  even 
to  his  own  better  judgment.  How  might  I  put  him  in 
a  good  temper?  My  eyes  fell  upon  the  cleverly 
mended  wall. 

"How  well  you  have  repaired  the  gap!"  I  said, 
striving  to  make  the  tones  of  my  voice  match  my 
words  of  praise.  "You  are  wonderfully  clever  with 
your  hands!  I  should  think  you  could  make  them 
do  anything  you  chose." 

My  compliment  failed  to  please.  Thrusting  his 
hands  deep  down  into  his  pockets  he  stood  staring  at 
me  with  suspicion. 

"To  what  do  these  soft  words  lead?"  he  asked 
coldly.  "Are  they  intended  to  turn  away  wrath? 
I  am  not  angry  with  you  but  with  myself.  I  have 
played  the  fool  too  long." 

"That  is  just  it !"  I  cried,  slipping  off  the  wall  and 
— in  my  eagerness — laying  my  hand  upon  his  arm; 
"that  is  just  what  I  wished  to  speak  about !" 

"Indeed !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am  surprised,  but 
pleased — in  spite  of  the  lack  of  compliment — that 
you  so  readily  agree  with  me.  Your  frankness  shall 
be  met  with  equal  openness  on  my  part.  I  will  tell 

264 


THE    PKISOKER   OF    OKNITH   FAEM 

you  at  once  the  conclusion  at  which  I  have  ar- 
rived  " 

"I  knew  it !"  I  interrupted,  my  intense  relief  mak- 
ing it  impossible  for  me  to  let  him  finish  his  sen- 
tence. "I  felt  sure  that  you  would,  sooner  or  later, 
realize  your" — I  hesitated — "your  mistake.  And 
it  can  be  easily  arranged.  I  ask  no  vengeance.  I 
forgive  you,  yes,"  I  asseverated,  carried  away  by  a 
very  delirium  of  happiness  at  thought  of  the  free- 
dom I  imagined  already  mine,  "I  forgive  you  from 
my  heart." 

"Thank  you/'  said  Mr.  Lannion  dryly. 

He  did  not  share  my  enthusiasm.  This  was  but 
natural,  I  thought,  since  he  probably  was  fancying 
that  he  must  face  unending  disagreeables  before 
getting  through  with  the  matter  of  giving  me  back. 
But  these  he  should  be  spared.  I  dreaded  them  as 
much  as  he. 

"I  know  of  what  you  are  thinking,"  I  said,  smiling 
up  at  him,  "but  I  will  arrange  all  that." 

He  drew  his  hands  from  his  pockets  and  clasping 
my  feverish  fingers  held  them  closely.  I  let  them  lie. 
The  parting  having  come,  I  could  afford  to  give  way 
in  trifles. 

"You  arrange  matters,"  he  said  gently;  "a  little 
girl  like  you!" 

I  met  his  indulgent  smiling  eyes  gravely.  "I 
must,"  I  said.  "I  alone  can  persuade  my  people 
that — "  I  broke  off.  This  plan  seemed  suddenly 
impossible. 

"What,  a  difficulty  already?"  asked  Mr.  Lannion. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "What  we  will  have  to  do  is — not 
to  tell  the  truth.  It  will  be  hateful,  of  course.  We 
must  make  up  some  story — that  was  what  I  intended 
to  propose.  But  I  find  it  harder  to  invent  one  than 
I  thought."  I  looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"Come  and  sit  down,"  he  suggested.  We  seated 
265 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

ourselves  upon  the  wall.    "What  story  do  you  want 
made  up  ?" 

"Why,  just  that  you  had  found  me,  and,  in  spite 
of  yourself  (because  of  that  awful  storm,  perhaps), 
had  kept  me  longer  than  you  meant,  and — and — " 
I  faltered,  stopped  speaking,  daunted  by  the  mockery 
in  his  eyes  and  smile. 

"I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  have  never  been  in 
love,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  suspected  it  from  the  first. 
Now  I  am  sure.  You  have  made  me  very  happy, 
Hope." 

"You  mean — oh,  it  is  not  possible  that  you  do  not 
mean " 

"I  don't  mean  to  give  you  up,"  Mr.  Lannion  in- 
terrupted, "if  that  is  what  you  wish  to  know.  A 
truce  to  all  this  nonsense."  He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and 
placing  himself  directly  in  front  of  me,  delivered 
his  ultimatum.  "I  was  a  fool  not  to  marry  you  at 
once.  I  shall  do  so  now.  I  shall  send  for  a  man 
who  will  be  obliged  to  marry  us,  even  if  you  state 
your  unwillingness  to  go  through  with  the  ceremony. 
Should  you  consider  it  your  duty  to  omit  making  the 
responses,  he  will  give  me  a  proper  certificate  just 
the  same." 

Stunned  by  his  words  I  sat  silent.  What  should  I 
do?  He  seated  himself  beside  me,  slipped  his  arm 
around  me,  took  my  hand  in  his.  Then  bent  his 
head — his  face  came  close,  close  to  mine.  I  found 
my  voice. 

"Ah!"  I  gasped,  shrinking  from  him,  "Loup- 
garou!" 

He  started,  his  purpose  unaccomplished.  I  tore 
my  hands  from  his  and  sprang  aside.  He  strode 
toward  me,  frowning. 

"Never  call  me  that  again,"  he  said  menacingly. 
"Such  epithets  would  sound  ill  from  the  lips  of  my 
wife." 

266 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   EARM 

"I  shall  not  marry  you,"  I  said  firmly.  "You 
know  that  I  am  already  engaged." 

"To  a  man  you  do  not  love,"  he  replied  quickly. 

I  laughed  a  little.    I  had  recovered  my  courage. 

"A  truce  to  nonsense,  as  you  wisely  observed  a 
moment  since,  Mr.  Lannion."  Then  looking  at  him 
earnestly  I  said,  very  gravely:  "It  is  time  that  you 
should  be  told  that  I  love  Max  Errol — with  all  my 
heart." 

I  colored  hotly  as  I  spoke;  but  my  heart  swelled 
with  pride,  with  devotion  to  Max.  Mr.  Lannion 
shook  his  head,  smiling.  His  moment  of  anger  was 
over. 

"I  doubt  if  your  love  is  strong  enough  to  endure 
any  severe  test,"  he  said  good-temperedly.  "But  you 
may  not  realize  how  matters  stand — although  you  are 
such  a  wise  little  woman.  You  may  not  be  aware 
that  should  you  succeed  in  an  attempt  to  leave  me, 
I  should  follow  you.  And  I  should,  most  assuredly, 
make  it  impossible  for  Mr.  Errol  to  rejoice  over  your 
return." 

"You  would — you  would — "  I  faltered,  broke 
down. 

"I  would  shoot  him,"  was  the  composed  reply,  "and 
then,  I  suppose,  myself." 

We  were  both  silent  for  a  long  moment.  Then  Mr. 
Lannion  spoke  again. 

"If  you  get  away,  Hope,  it  will  be  because  I  am 
unable  to  catch  up  with  you  in  time — as  I  have  just 
done.  Should  that  happen,  my  chances  for  anything 
would  be  about  over.  So  I  should  make  the  best  of 
bad  fortune  by  removing  Max  Errol,  along  with  my- 
self, from  this  world.  If  you  want  him  to  live,  you 
had  better  stay  with  me.  I'm  not  such  a — well,  such 
a  wolf,  as  you  would  make  out.  Honestly,  I  will 
try  to  make  you  happy." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  me.  I  did  not  lay  mine 
267 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

in  it.  At  last  I  asked  a  question.  My  voice  sounded 
odd  and. dull. 

"Is — what  you  have  done — punishable — by  law  ?" 

"Very  much  so,"  he  said  curtly.  "A  bullet  would 
be  less  bitter  medicine.  But  Max  Errol,  I  promise 
you,  shall  go  shares  with  me.  I'll  drink  my  last  cup 
with  him." 

"I  feel  rather — rather  tired,"  I  said  faintly.  "If 
you  please  I  am  ready  to — to  go." 

Uttering  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  Mr.  Lannion 
sprang  forward  and  caught  me  in  his  arms. 

"No,  no,"  I  insisted,  as  he  begged  me  to  sit  down 
and  rest  for  a  moment ;  "put  me  on  Nonios  and  take 
me — take  me — "  A  flood  of  tears  stopped  my  speech. 
I  could  not  force  myself  to  say  "home." 

With  anxious  haste  Mr.  Lannion  obeyed,  and  I 
was  soon  behind  the  white  bars  of  my  room — again 
a  prisoner  at  Ornith  Farm. 


268 


XXIII 

Although  fully  believing  that  Mr.  Lannion's 
threat  was  no  empty  one,  and  that  he  would  at  once 
send  for  the  man  who  was  to  marry  us,  yet  because 
of  my  buoyant  temperament  my  despair  did  not  last 
long.  Before  I  had  made  a  fresh  toilet — my  pretty 
summer  frock  had  been  sadly  marred  by  my  wild 
ride — I  thought  I  had  lost  courage  too  soon.  Mrs. 
Despard  and  Mr.  King  would  never  stand  by  and 
allow  Mr.  Lannion  to  carry  out  this  last  evil  pur- 
pose. I  would  tell  Mr.  King  at  once,  I  thought. 
He  would  interfere  thus  far  in  my  behalf,  surely. 
As  for  what  Mr.  Lannion  had  said  in  regard  to  Max 
— time  enough  to  think  of  that  when  I  had  seen  and 
consulted  Mr.  King. 

Just  before  supper,  hearing  a  slight  noise  in  the 
hall,  I  opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  It  was 
Roddy,  apparently  absorbed  in  perfecting  himself 
in  his  latest  study — that  of  walking  upon  his  hands. 
I  suspected  that  he  was  really  waiting  for  me.  Of 
this  I  became  certain  when,  feigning  not  to  notice 
me,  he  made  his  unsteady  way  into  his  own  little 
room,  and  dropped  down  upon  the  floor  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction. 

"Bravo,  Roddy!"  I  cried  with  assumed  gayety; 
"you'll  be  walking  the  tight-rope  next,"  and  I  en- 
tered after  him. 

His  room  was  a  middle  one,  between  the  two  cor- 
ner rooms  occupied  respectively  by  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Despard.  Over  his  bed  hung  the  picture  in  which 
he  delighted — Grace  Darling  rowing  her  boat 

269 


through  the  surf.     He  scrambled  up  and  going  to 
the  window  leaned  out. 

"Golly,  but  it's  hot!"  he  exclaimed,  then  turned 
and  smiled  at  me.  His  eyes  were  very  red.  He  had 
been  crying. 

The  doors  communicating  with  the  rooms  on 
either  side  were  closed.  I  knew  that  the  child 
had  something  to  confide.  I  looked  about  me,  pre- 
tending not  to  have  seen  the  signs  of  tears,  but 
to  be  interested  in  the  room.  Roddy  went  to 
his  small  bookcase  and  selecting  a  book  brought  it 
to  me.  It  was  a  handsome  copy  of  "Tanglewood 
Tales." 

"From  Tom  King,"  said  the  child  in  faltering 
accents.  "He's  gone — for  good." 

Turning  his  back  he  looked  out  of  the  window, 
visibly  struggling  not  to  cry  again.  I  sank  into  a 
chair;  robbed  of  my  strength  by  this  sudden  with- 
drawal of  my  chief  dependence. 

"Open  carefully,"  continued  Roddy,  lowering  his 
voice.  "It's  in  'The  Pomegranate  Seeds' — read  it 
quick!  Uncle  Rollis  has  ridden  off  to  telegraph 
something.  I  heard  him  tell  Pop  so.  Pop's  on  the 
piazza.  To  be  read  by  you,  Tom  said;  till  then, 
my  'trust.'  Won't  you  please  hurry !" 

I  did  as  he  wished.  I  soon  found  a  sheet  of 
closely  written  note-paper.  On  one  of  the  pages  be- 
tween which  it  lay  these  words  had  been  heavily 
underlined  with  pencil: 

"Wherever  she  set  her  blessed  foot,  there  was  at 
once  a  dewy  flower.  The  violets  gushed  up  along 
the  wayside." 

The  choice  of  the  story  in  which  the  paper  was 
placed,  told  me  that  Mr.  King  had  discovered  Mr. 
Lannion's  fond  conceit  in  regard  to  the  ancient 
myth.  What  Mr.  King  had  written  was  very  strange. 
It  ran  as  follows : 

270 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Yes,  'a  dewy  flower' !  A  flower  of  encourage- 
ment, bidding  men  earn  their  bread  by  the  sweat  of 
the  brow,  rather  than  by  the  easy  cheating  of  their 
fellows. 

"Yes,  'a  dewy  flower'!  A  flower  fragrant  with 
the  sweet  faith  of  a  young  girl's  soul — pure,  free 
from  taint  of  evil. 

"  'The  violets  gushed  up  along  the  wayside/ 
Yes,  violets  of  deep  affection  from  the  heart  of  a 
brave  child.  Blossoms  of  wholesome  respect  in  the 
breast  of  a  callous,  world-worn  woman.  The  first 
returning  bloom  of  a  humble  belief  in  God's  justice, 
in  the  long  bedimmed  soul  of  me — a  sinner. 

"But  'As  the  bird  by  wandering,  as  the  swallow  by 
flying,  so  the  curse  causeless — shall  not  come.' 

"I  have  sinned,  and  the  hand  of  the  Most  High 
is  heavy  upon  me. 

"In  my  folly  I  believed  I  knew  well  what  awaited 
me — should  my  sin  be  found  out.  Not  so.  For  who 
may  foretell  the  judgments  of  God?  He  ordains 
that  for  my  punishment  I  must  stand  passive  in  the 
torture  chamber  where,  on  the  rack,  lies  Innocence, 
bound  hand  and  foot. 

"I  go  to  prepare  my  grave.  With  plowshare  and 
harrow,  with  rake  and  spade  will  I  make  it  ready. 
May  it  please  God  to  shorten  this  task  and,  because 
of  my  great  misery,  may  it  please  Him  to  let  me  lie 
down  in  my  grave  full  soon.  My  petty,  wretched 
body,  is  aweary  of  His  glorious  world. 

"Farewell  forever  to  all  happiness;  farewell  to — 
Hope." 

Roddy  watched  me  eagerly  as  I  folded  the  sheet 
and  put  it  in  my  pocket.  He  nodded  his  head  vio- 
lently, winking  away  the  tears. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  earnest  confirmation  of  what 
he  fancied  I  had  just  read,  "gone  for  good — hired 

271 


THE    PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

out,  to  work  on  a  farm.  Tom !  Yes,  said  his  hands 
were  dirty  (for  all  they  looked  clean),  said  the  stain 
had  worked  in  under  the  skin.  Said  he'd  heard 
there  was  nothin'  like  farm  tools  for  blistering  such 
dirt  out,  and  that  old  Mother  Earth  had  washed  off 
many  a  man's  stained  hands  before."  The  child 
laughed  unsteadily.  "Tom's  always  so  funny!"  he 
added,  looking  wistfully  at  me. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  has  gone,  Roddy!"  I 
asked.  Taking  the  boy's  hand  in  mine  I  drew  him 
close. 

"No,"  he  whispered,  while  I  felt  his  arm  steal 
around  my  neck,  "but  I  think  I  know  why  he  went 
away.  It  was  'cause  of  a  row  with  Pop  and  mother, 
in  the  dining-room  after  breakfast  one  morning  not 
long  ago,  when  Uncle  Rollis  and  those  other  two 
chaps  had  gone  out,  and  mother  stayed  to  pour  out 
Pop's  coffee — Pop  came  down  late — and  I  stayed 
'cause  Tom  stayed."  Roddy  stopped  for  breath  and 
to  collect  his  ideas.  "Tom  and  mother  got  talking 
about  you,"  he  continued,  "an'  both  got  mad.  I 
know  they  were  awful  mad  for  mother  got  redder 
every  minute,  and  Tom's  voice  got  softer  an'  slower 
every  word  he  said — you  know  that's  Tom's  way. 
Mother  said  you  were  real  sweet  an'  she  thought  a 
lot  of  you,  but  she  wondered  at  Uncle  Rollis  bein' 
so  wild  about  you.  She  said  she  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved a  girl  goin'  on  eighteen  could  be  so  ridiculous 
ignorant;  said  if  she  was  a  man  she'd  want  a  girl 
with  more  snap;  said  that  you  were  lovely,  and  she 
liked  you  ever  so  much,  but  you  really  didn't  know 
beans." 

Roddy  broke  off,  staring  at  me,  his  brow  puckered 
with  doubt.  "It's  not  mean  of  me  to  tell,  is  it  ?"  he 
inquired  anxiously.  "Mother  spoke  right  out.  She 
wasn't  talking  secrets." 

I  shook  my  head,  although  I  felt  uncomfortable 
272 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

in  doing  so.  It  was  necessary  for  me  to  hear  all  I 
could. 

"Mother  said  you  didn't  know  beans,"  Roddy 
went  on,  reassured,  "and  Tom  said  that  he  had 
heard  beans  were  unwholesome,  and  that  he  didn't 
care  any  more  for  beans  than  some  folks  did  for 
sour  grapes.  It  was  then  that  mother  got  mad.  She 
said  she  didn't  know  what  he  meant  by  alludin'  to 
sour  grapes,  but  that  if  he  looked  to  find  a  married 
lady,  which  was  a  wife  an'  mother,  as  ignorant  as 
a  half-baked  big-eyed  baby  in  her  'teens —  Then," 
said  Roddy,  "Tom  interrupted.  It's  rude  to  inter- 
rupt, but  Tom,"  he  spoke  apologetically,  striving  to 
defend  his  absent  friend,  "Tom  was  awful  mad.-  I 
knew  he  was  because  of  his  soft  way  of  speaking, 
and  he  was  awful  white,  too.  Mother,  she  was  red 
mad ;  Tom,  white  mad.  I  wonder  which  is  the  mad- 
dest?" 

I  said  that  I  did  not  know.    Roddy  sighed. 

"Well,  anyway,"  he  continued,  "Tom  interrupted. 
He  said  that  it  hadn't  entered  his  head,  nor  would 
it  ever  enter  any  man's  head,  to  compare  Miss  Car- 
michael — "  Roddy  paused,  sighed  again.  "Then 
Pop  interrupted.  He  said  something  awful,  Pop 
did."  The  child  glanced  toward  the  door.  "Hush ! 
Listen!"  he  whispered.  "Pop  said,  'Oh,  damn  it, 
Tom,  for  God's  sake,  stop!'  And  Tom  he  looked  at 
Pop  a  minute,  then  he  kinder  laughed.  'I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Luther  Despard,'  he  said,  turning  to 
mother,  'but  you  misunderstood  my  allusion  to  sour 
grapes.  I  only  wanted  to  quote  from  Scripture, 
which  says:  "The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes, 
and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge."  Your 
teeth  are  good  sized,  Rodgers-with-a-d/  says  Tom. 
But  Pop  let  go  his  coffee-cup.  Down  it  went  ker- 
smash,  and  I — I,"  faltered  Roddy,  "I  felt  kinder 
scared,  and/'  shamefacedly,  "I  ran  away." 

273 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

I  stroked  the  child's  hand  caressingly.  I  was  so 
sorry  for  him,  so  very,  very  sorry. 

"Yesterday  was  an  awful  day,"  he  recommenced, 
evidently  finding  solace  in  pouring  out  his  over- 
charged heart,  "but  to-day's  been  awfuller,  though 
it  began  so  all  right.  First  there  was  Aileen  going 
for  good,  and  then — Tom.  He  went  right  after 
lunch.  He  called  me  away  up  into  his  room" — 
Roddy  nodded  toward  the  ceiling,  indicating  the 
third  story — "and  there  we  said  good-bye.  I  stayed 
up  there  after  he  left — thought  I  might  as  well — " 
(he  did  not  care  to  confide  that  he  remained  there 
to  conceal  his  tears  over  the  parting) — "and  then  I 
heard  a  rush.  I  ran  to  the  window  and  there  you 
were  on  Ashtie  flyin'  down  the  road.  The  same 
minute  Uncle  Rollis  burst  out  of  the  next  room  and 
went  downstairs  as  if  he  was  crazy.  I  prayed  to 
God  to  make  him  tumble  an'  break  his  neck,  and  to 
let  you  get  off  scot-free " 

Roddy  eyed  me  strangely  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said  earnestly :  "I  hoped  that  Pop  hoped  what  I  did. 
He  ran  in  to  where  I  was,  and  we  watched  from  the 
window  together.  He  didn't  say  anything,  and  I 
didn't  dare  speak.  I  felt  awful  queer  here" — he 
pressed  my  hand  against  his  heart — "all  swelled. 
Choky,  too,  in  my  throat.  Then  Uncle  Rollis  dashed 
out  on  Nonios,  and  after  him  Solomon  on  Abates, 
with  Ossie  and  Hennie  at  his  heels.  By  and  by, 
when  I  was  most  dead  waiting,  the  dogs  came  leap- 
ing out  of  the  woods  below.  Then  back  they  ran, 
and  in  and  out,  in  and  out,  till  I  was  crazy  with 
scare.  I  fidgeted  awful,  and  Pop  told  me  not  to 
worry,  I'd  soon  have  you  back  again.  He  said  he'd 
always  heard  that  there  was  nothing  so  exciting  as 
a  man  hunt,  and  he  guessed  my  Uncle  Rollis  had 
found  it  so.  And  then " 

The  child  ceased  speaking,  buried  his  face  on  my 
2U 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

shoulder,  clinging  tightly  to  me  as  though  fighting 
down  some  pain.  I  kissed  him  gently  and  strove 
to  change  the  trend  of  his  thoughts. 

"There  must  be  a  beautiful  view  from  the  upper 
windows,"  I  said  quietly.  "I  have  never  been  in  the 
third  story." 

"Nor  me  neither  till  to-day,"  was  the  smothered 
reply.  "I'm  never  allowed  up.  Glad  of  it,  too! 
Nasty  old  house.  I  hate  it  all.  Wish  you  and  me 
could  go  off  together — just  you  and  me !" 

"Can  you  see  over  the  trees  near  the  house?"  I 
inquired. 

"Yes,  'most  everywhere."  He  lifted  his  head  but 
averted  his  face  as  he  answered  me.  "Pop  says  it's 
a  grand  view.  There's  no  danger  of  entertaining 
angels  unawares  here,  Pop  says.  What  did  he  mean 
by  that,  do  you  s'pose  ?  Why,  look !  there's  that  hate- 
ful old  Ebenezer  skulking  'round  the  hall." 

Roddy  ran  quickly  to  the  door.  "Scat !"  he  cried 
shrilly,  while  he  performed  a  sort  of  no-admission 
war-dance  on  the  threshold.  "Scat,  you  old  beast!" 
Slamming  the  door  vengefully,  he  returned  to  me. 
"I  won't  have  any  hideous  old  familiars  loping 
'round  where  you  are,"  he  said  firmly. 

"Familiars,  Roddy?"  I  said,  wondering  to  hear 
the  child  use  the  term. 

"Yes,  that's  what  Tom  King  says  he  is.  A  fa- 
miliar, Zayma's.  She's  prowling  on  the  back  stair- 
case now ;  I  saw  her  topknot  as  she  opened  the  door 
opposite  and  peeked  out.  A  good  beast  can't  be  a 
familiar,  Tom  says ;  won't  consent  to  be  one.  And 
only  bad  people  want  'em — so  it's  all  right.  Eben- 
ezer is  Zayma's  familiar  and" — he  lowered  Kis  voice 
to  a  whisper — "Malvina  was  Uncle  Rollis's!  Tom 
didn't  say  so.  I  guessed  it.  And  Tom  says,"  con- 
tinued the  child,  glancing  fondly  from  me  to  the 
picture  he  loved  and  back  again,  "Tom  says  that 

275 


THE   PKISOKER   OF   OENITH   FAKM 

some  people  believe  the  same  souls  are  used  over  and 
over,  and  perhaps  the  soul  that  was  once  Grace  Dar- 
ling's is  yours  now.  She  saved  lives,  Tom  says,  and 
you  save  souls.  That's  all  the  difference,  Tom  says. 
Will  you  have  your  supper  with  me  to-night? 
Please  do!  It's  time  to  go  downstairs  now." 


273 


XXIV 

The  hated  bars  brought  what  had  heretofore  been 
denied  me — solitude.  I  sat  by  my  window  late,  late 
into  the  night,  thinking.  For  the  gravity  of  my 
position  had  become  extreme,  and  Mrs.  Despard 
alone  remained  as  a  possible  ally.  I  wondered  if 
she  had  written  the  letter  I  had  begged  her  to  send 
to  my  family.  If  so,  it  had  never  reached  them. 
Then  came  the  terrifying  thought  that  she  might 
remain  away  until  after  the  wretched  creature,  Mr. 
Lannion's  tool,  had  arrived  at  Ornith  Farm.  I 
sprang  to  my  feet  and  paced  the  floor  in  a  very 
anguish  of  dread.  So  the  night  passed. 

Shortly  after  dawn — it  was  Sunday  morning — the 
house  was  in  a  state  of  unwonted  commotion.  Pres- 
ently I  became  aware  that  the  hurrying  footsteps 
always  came  from,  or  ended  at,  Dr.  Despard's  door. 
When  Nanny  tapped  to  ask  if  I  were  ready  for  her, 
she  told  me  that  Dr.  Despard  had  had  one  of  his 
attacks.  He  was  better,  but  very  weak.  Nanny 
added  that  she  was  thankful  Mis'  Despard  was  to 
be  home  by  noon,  since  she,  Nanny,  was  "mos'  scairt 
ter  death  ter  nurse  folks !" 

I  found  poor  Roddy  equally  anxious  for  his 
mother's  return.  The  child  begged  me  so  earnestly 
to  go  in  with  him  to  see  his  father  that  I  could 
not  refuse,  although  I  felt  sure  that  I  should  be 
unwelcome.  Mr.  Lannion  was  seated  by  his  friend's 
bedside  when  we  entered.  He  rose,  and  coming 
quickly  to  meet  me,  stooped  and  kissed  my  cheek 
before  I,  not  suspecting  his  intention,  had  time  to 
turn  away.  Because  of  Dr.  Despard  I  did  not  cry 

277 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

out,  controlling  with  a  great  effort  my  alarm  and 
displeasure.  The  next  moment  Mr.  Lannion  placed 
me  in  the  chair  he  had  just  vacated,  and  left  the 
room,  saying  that  he  had  matters  of  importance  to 
attend  to. 

"I  don't  grudge  her  to  you,  Luther,"  he  added, 
smiling  at  us  affectionately  from  the  doorway, 
"though  I  own  I  would  to  any  one  else.  She  will 
do  you  more  good  than  any  medicine — my  sunny 
little  girl!" 

I  looked  at  Dr.  Despard  as  the  door  closed,  but 
he  had  shut  his  eyes,  and  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  know  how  Mr.  Lannion's  extraordinary  behavior 
had  impressed  him.  His  face,  always  white,  showed 
ghastly  gray  against  the  pillow.  I  doubted  if  he  had 
long  to  live.  Presently  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  fix- 
ing them  upon  me  thanked  me,  in  a  weak  voice,  for 
honoring  him  with  my  company.  He  looked  so 
desperately  ill  that  my  heart  was  suddenly  wrung 
with  pity.  Forgetting  my  previous  bitter  dislike,  I 
asked  impulsively  if  there  were  not  something  I 
could  do  to  make  him  more  comfortable.  Should  I 
read  to  him?  Or,  perhaps,  if  he  had  had  a  bad 
night,  I  might  sing  him  to  sleep.  I  would  sing  very, 
very,  softly — might  I  try? 

A  faint  gleam  of  pleasure  lighted  up  his  face  as 
he  murmured  a  grateful  assent  to  this  last  sugges- 
tion. We  were  quite  alone,  since  Roddy,  too,  had 
left  the  room.  A  cool,  green  twilight — subdued, 
grateful  to  tired  eyes — filled  the  large  apartment. 
I  began  to  sing  softly,  very  softly,  as  to  a  little  child. 
I  sang  drowsy  cradle  songs;  the  lullabies  of  many 
nations;  but  all  alike  in  their  swinging  rhythm,  for 
the  rhythm  of  a  rocking  cradle  is  everywhere  the 
same. 

Soon,  forgetting  time  and  place,  the  sick  man, 
everything  save  the  songs,  and  the  pictures  they 

278 


evoked  as  I  sang;  remembering  only  the  need  of 
singing  softly,  soothingly — soon  I  drifted  into  the 
chants  of  our  church  and  low-toned,  plaintive 
hymns.  I  leaned  my  head  against  the  back  of  my 
chair,  and,  while  crooning  softly,  very  softly,  I  my- 
self fell  fast  asleep. 

My  sleep  was  the  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion, 
and  it  had  lasted  for  fully  an  hour,  when  I  was 
awakened  by  the  sound  of  a  carriage  rolling  briskly 
up  the  avenue.  For  a  moment  I  did  not  know  where 
I  was,  and,  sitting  erect,  I  stared  in  wonder  about 
the  unfamiliar,  dimly  lighted  room,  with  its  pun- 
gent odor  of  medicines.  Then  I  remembered,  and 
looked  at  the  sick  man,  pleased  to  find  that  he  still 
slept. 

I  felt  less  hardly  toward  Dr.  Despard,  somehow. 
I  asked  myself  if  I  had  not  condemned  him  too 
quickly.  He  might  really  think  that  I  was  mentally 
unbalanced.  Doctors  had  made  grave  mistakes  be- 
fore ;  why  not  in  my  case  ? 

As  this  fear  of  having  been  unjust  crossed  my 
mind,  I  heard  Mrs.  Despard's  voice.  She  was  evi- 
dently mounting  the  staircase,  for  the  sound  grew 
louder  each  moment,  and  as  evidently  venting  her 
displeasure  upon  some  one  who  remained  below. 
Roused  by  the  shrill  noise,  Dr.  Despard  opened  his 
eyes  and,  seeing  me,  smiled. 

"I  have  had  a  refreshing  sleep,"  he  said;  "it  has 
strengthened  me  wonderfully.  I  thank  you." 

Going  to  his  side  I  asked  to  be  of  further  use. 
He  let  me  slip  another  pillow  beneath  his  head,  and 
said  that  he  would  take  his  medicine.  As  I  gave 
it  to  him  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Despard  bounced 
in.  She  looked  overheated,  angry,  and  self-absorbed. 
Her  exuberant  presence  seemed  to  change  the  very 
atmosphere  of  the  sick-room;  it  was  as  if  a  glaring 
light  had  been  roughly  admitted.  Her  toilet  was 

279 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   EARM 

as  aggressive  as  her  manner.  She  wore  a  travelling 
suit  of  large  black  and  white  check,  and  on  the  back 
of  her  head  was  pinned  an  enormous  black  hat, 
a-tremble  with  black  and  white  ostrich  tips.  Before 
greeting  either  of  us  she  halted  in  the  doorway  and 
sniffed  loudly,  disapprovingly. 

"My!"  she  exclaimed,  "no  wonder  you're  sick. 
This  room  fairly  reeks  of  drugs!"  Bustling  to  the 
nearest  window  she  flung  it  wide,  then  advancing 
to  the  bed  stared  at  her  husband.  "Rollis  Lan- 
nion  said  you  was  at  the  point  of  death,  but  he's 
such  a  liar  I  didn't  believe  him.  Why,  you  look 
first-rate,  Loo  Despard!  You're  all  right,  ain't 
you?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Henrietta,"  Dr.  Despard  replied 
quickly.  "The  attack  was  sharp — but  you  know 
they  never  last  long.  I  only  need  a  day  or  two  of 
rest.  How  did  Aileen  bear  the  journey  ?" 

"She's  fixed  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Despard,  "an' 
I'll  give  you  particulars  later.  What  I  want  to  say 
right  now  is  that  I  won't  stand  bein'  treated  like 
I'm  treated  by  Rollis  Lannion!  No,  not  another 
minute.  Which  he's  had  the  impudence  to  confiscate 
an'  hold  back  letters — my  private  letters!  And  I 
won't  stand  it,  Loo  Despard,  an'  if  you  sit  by  an' 
see  your  own  wife  so  insulted,  why,  you'll  be  too 
mean-spirited  to  live.  And  he  says  you  know  of  it, 
too,  which  I'll  never  believe,  no  never,  till  your  own 
lips  say  it  and  not  then.  And  it  was  the  letter 
wrote  to  pleasure  you,"  she  continued,  transferring 
her  attention  from  her  husband  to  me,  while  he 
strove  in  vain  to  interrupt  her  angry  torrent  of 
words.  "And  no  wonder  you  wish  to  go  elsewhere, 
an'  to  see  some  decent  folks.  Yes,  an'  I  was  s'prised, 
so  I  was,  that  Mrs.  Carmichael  and  Mr.  Errol  didn't 
come  at  once  to  see  a  poor,  half -crazed  young  creature 
which  thought  herself  their  niece.  Which  they  will 

280 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

do,  too" — her  voice  rose  higher  and  higher — "before 
I'm  many  days  older,  for  I'll  post  it  myself  instead 
of  trusting  it  to  any  young  jackanapes  like  that 
young  thing-um-bob — I  forget  his  name,  but  I  met 
him  at  the  station  in  N'York,  as  I  was  comin'  out 
this  morning  (and  I'm  glad  the  two  are  gone,  not 
a  word  to  say  neither  one  of  them,  an'  here  a  week 
goin'  on  two),  and  I  asked  about  my  letter,  bein' 
struck  with  a  thought,  an'  he  said  as  he  had  give  it 
to  Lannion  to  post.  Yes,"  Mrs.  Despard  stopped 
for  a  fleeting  instant  to  take  breath,  "yes" — she 
lowered  her  voice  and  spoke  very  slowly — "yes,  he 
has  robbed  the  mail,  Rollis  Lannion  has,  but  it  won't 
do  him  no  good — which  I'm  goin'  to  write  again. 
Or,  no,"  she  looked  at  me  with  sudden  kindliness, 
"I  won't  trust  no  letter,  child.  I'll  telegraph — and 
you  shall  have  your  innocent  pleasure  spite  of  all  the 
Rollis  Lannions  in  the  world!" 

As  she  ceased  speaking  the  door  was  gently  opened 
and  Mr.  Lannion  entered.  He  carried  a  cup  of 
coffee. 

"I  did  not  knock,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "for  I 
knew  that  you  must  be  awake,  and  in  need  of  some- 
thing to  strengthen  you."  He  glanced  significantly 
at  Mrs.  Despard.  "Come,  little  nurse" — he  smiled 
at  me — "you  shall  coax  your  patient  to  drink  this. 
A  man  would  consent  to  swallow  poison  if  this  child 
offered  it,  wouldn't  he,  Despard?" 

I  did  not  move.  Mrs.  Despard,  her  color  deepen- 
ing, laid  a  protecting  hand  upon  my  arm,  and  rushed 
into  speech. 

"Perhaps  you'll  repeat  what  you  said  about  that 
letter  which  you  took — yes,  stole"  she  said  deter- 
minately,  "here  before  my  husband.  Which  you 
said " 

"Yes,  yes,  Henrietta,"  Dr.  Despard  interrupted; 
"I  beg  that  you  will  spare  me  a  second  tirade.  I 

281 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNTITH   FARM 

do  know  about  that  unwise  communication.  I  am 
glad  that  it  found  its  way  into  my  hands." 

"What?"  gasped  Mrs.  Despard,  apparently  un- 
willing to  credit  her  ears.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you — my  own  husband — took — kep'  back — de- 
stroyed, perhaps " 

"Yes,  I  did  destroy  it,"  the  doctor  broke  in  im- 
patiently. "It  was  a  most  imprudent  document. 
And  I  wonder,  Henrietta,  at  your  obstinate  persist- 
ence in  meddling  with  what  does  not  in  the  least 
concern  you.  I  must  beg  you  in  future  to  allow  me, 
and  Mr.  Lannion,  to  manage  our  affairs  as  we  see 
fit."  His  voice  trailed  away  weakly,  he  looked  ex- 
hausted, unfit  for  further  speech. 

Mrs.  Despard's  high  color  had  died  away.  She 
had  become  almost  as  pale  as  her  husband.  She  took 
my  hand  in  hers  and,  after  a  moment  spoke.  Her 
voice  was  very  low,  as  if  borne  down  by  a  weight  of 
new  thoughts,  of  new  ideas.  Ideas — so  it  seemed 
— that  she  could  not  as  yet  quite  grasp. 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  speaking  slowly,  as 
though  forming  the  words  had  suddenly  become  dif- 
ficult, "do  you  mean  that,  after  this,  my  letters  are 
to  be  examined  into  ?  Do  you  mean  that  I'm  to  be 
kep'  watch  on — like  this  poor  girl  here  ?" 

Her  husband  moved  impatiently.  "Don't  talk 
like  a  third-rate  tragedy  queen,  Henrietta !"  he  said. 
"Of  course,  if  you  insist  upon  behaving  like  a  per- 
son devoid  of  sense,  you're  not  to  be  trusted — that 
is  all." 

Mrs.  Despard  laughed;  an  odd,  nervous  laugh. 
I  hated  to  hear  it.  She  tossed  her  head  defiantly. 

"Which  if  you  ain't  square,"  she  cried,  "I  am. 
So  I  give  you  warning.  I  mean  to  make  it  my  busi- 
ness to  see  fair  play  in  this  house.  I  mean  to  make 
it  my  business  to  take  care  of  this  unfortunate  girl. 
I  mean  to  tell  everybody ,  yes,  every  human  soul 

282 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORKLTH   FARM 

which  I  know,  of  her  bein'  confined  here  against  her 
will.  I  mean  to  make  it  my  business  to  see  her  kep' 
in  some  first-class  'sjlum — like  as  not  adopted  by 
those  kind  folks  the  Carmichaels  and  Errols.  I 
mean " 

But  Mr.  Lannion,  stepping  forward,  caught  my 
hand  from  hers  and  placed  himself  between  us. 

"Your  husband  wishes  a  few  words  with  you  in 
private,"  he  said  firmly.  "You  and  I  are  not 
wanted,  Aimee."  And  he  swept  me  into  the  hall, 
closing  the  door  behind  us.  "I  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  subjected  you  to  the  companionship  of  that 
loud-voiced  virago,"  he  said,  directly  we  were  out- 
side. "I  seem  to  have  made  mistakes  all  along  the 
line.  No,  don't  shut  yourself  up  in  that  hot  little 
hole" — I  had  turned  toward  my  room — "come  down- 
stairs with  me.  It  is  cool  in  the  library,  and  I  have 
something  to  show  you."  I  shook  my  head,  retreat- 
ing as  he  advanced.  "Is  it  because  I  kissed  you  that 
you  won't  come?"  he  asked.  "It  was  a  very  bour- 
geois thing  to  do,  I  admit,  but  poor  Luther  does  not 
understand  nice  distinctions  of  manner." 

"You  kissed  me,  knowing  that  I  would  not  make  a 
scene,  to  prove  to  him " 

"Yes,  that  was  it,"  he  interrupted  quickly.  "I 
wanted  him  to  know  that  everything  was  settled.  I 
felt  certain  that  I  might  count  upon  your  taking  it 
quietly."  (I  thought  of  what  Mr.  King  had  said  of 
Mr.  Lannion's  knowledge  of  people.)  "I  want  to 
show  you  a  miniature  of  my  mother.  I  won't  trans- 
gress again.  I  give  you  my  word." 

But  I  went  on  into  my  room  and  softly  locked  the 
door.  Mrs.  Despard  would  come  to  me,  I  thought, 
very  soon.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  however,  and 
she  failed  to  appear.  At  first  this  frightened  me, 
then  I  realized  that  she  might  be  trying  to  outwit  Mr. 
Lannion  and  her  husband  by  pretended  submission. 

283 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

When  four  o'clock  struck  and  she  had  not  come  I 
felt  sure  that  this  was  the  case,  and  I  became  very 
hopeful.  She  might  already  have  managed  to  send 
the  promised  telegram — enlisting  Cooper's  aid  be- 
fore Mr.  Lannion  had  thought  of  giving  him  new 
instructions. 

At  five  there  came  the  sound  of  footsteps,  hasten- 
ing across  the  hall  and  down  the  staircase.  Then  I 
was  startled  by  hearing  a  carriage  drive  rapidly 
away.  I  looked  out  into  the  hall.  Mrs.  Despard's 
door  stood  wide.  I  ran  quickly  and  looked  into  the 
room.  She  was  not  there.  On  the  bed,  upon  the 
lounge  and  chairs,  were  garments  neatly  folded. 
Side  by  side  with  the  frocks  of  glaring  hues  were 
Roddy's  childish  suits  of  serge  and  linen.  I  opened 
the  door  leading  into  his  room.  The  little  bookcase 
was  empty,  its  books  packed  away  in  a  box  upon 
the  floor.  The  picture  of  Grace  Darling  had  dis- 
appeared. I  went  to  the  doctor's  room.  The  door 
was  ajar.  I  glanced  in.  There  was  no  one  there. 

Frightened,  feeling  that  I  must  know  if  what  I 
dreaded  could  be  true,  I  ran  downstairs.  Mr.  Lan- 
nion saw  me.  He  was  writing  at  the  table  in  the 
library.  I  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  hesi- 
tating, then  entered.  He  did  not  rise,  but  smiled  a 
welcome,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"You  have  been  shut  up  in  your  room  a  long 
time,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  have  been  asleep." 

"I  am  looking  for  Mrs.  Despard,"  I  said  breath- 
lessly. "Where  is  she,  please?" 

Mr.  Lannion  frowned.  "Gone,"  he  said  curtly, 
"deserted  her  post!  Yes,  you  may  well  look  aston- 
ished"— he  spoke  severely — "even  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it  of  her.  She  has  left  her  husband ;  taken 
the  boy  and  gone  home.  Luther  is  horribly  cut  up 
over  it" — he  rose  and,  going  quickly  to  the  door, 
closed  it — "but  he  does  not  say  much.  He  had 

284 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH    FARM 

per  dress  him  and  help  him  down  on  the  veranda. 
Don't  let  him  know  that  I've  told  you  the  real  state 
of  the  case." 

"She  is  not  coming  back  ?"  I  faltered — yet  I  felt 
that  he  was  speaking  the  truth. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lannion.  "She  has  gone  back 
to  her  old  home — I  pity  her  relations!  She's  a 
worthless  woman.  She  has  ruined  Luther's  career. 
If  he  hadn't  married  her  he  might  have  turned  over 
a  new  leaf — he  was  pretty  gay  at  one  time — and 
made  something  of  his  life.  I  dread  to-night,"  he 
added  after  a  moment.  "I  fear  that  the  poor  old 
chap  will  have  another  of  his  attacks,  this  has  upset 
him  so." 

Mr.  Lannion  roamed  restlessly  about  the  room; 
then  came  back  to  where  I  still  stood,  too  dazed  by 
what  I  had  just  heard  to  move. 

"Luther  doesn't  sleep,"  he  said.  "I've  been  try- 
ing to  get  him  to  change  his  room.  His  is  so  infer- 
nally light  in  the  morning — he  wakes  with  the  birds. 
It's  east,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  I  assented  dully. 

"I  want  him  to  take  Aileen's,  but  he  won't  because 
of  its  northern  exposure." 

"No  ?"  I  murmured.    I  moved  toward  the  door. 

"If  he  would  only  take  mine,"  pursued  Mr.  Lan- 
nion. "It  is  south-west;  both  cool  and  dark  in  the 
morning." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  best,"  I  agreed,  hardly  knowing 
that  I  spoke  at  all. 

"I  wish  I  had  some  one  upon  whom  I  could  de- 
pend," mused  Mr.  Lannion,  his  hand  upon  the  knob. 
He  sighed.  "Zayma  and  Nanny  are  no  good.  I 
wish  that  his  wife  had  stayed.  You  are  the  only 
competent  nurse  in  the  house,  but  you  are  out  of  the 
question."  Again  he  sighed. 

"Why  did  Mrs.  Despard  go  ?"  I  asked. 
285 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"She  objected  to  what  her  husband  felt  obliged 
to  tell  her.  It  did  not  concern  you,  or  your  affairs," 
he  added  hastily;  "it  was  a  private  family  matter; 
I  give  you  my  word.  I  would  have  been  glad  to 
have  her  go  but  for  Luther's  condition.  As  it 
is " 

He  stopped  speaking  and  looked  at  me. 

"If  he  is  ill  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  I  said. 

"No,  no,"  was  the  quick  response,  "I  could  not 
ask  that  of  you." 

"If  he  is  ill,"  I  reiterated,  beginning  to  climb  the 
staircase  with  leaden  feet,  "please  call  me.  I  will 
do  what  I  can,"  and  I  made  my  slow  way  back  into 
my  room. 

I  heard  the  door  of  the  back  staircase — it  was 
between  the  rooms  occupied  by  Aileen  and  Mr.  Lan- 
nion — close  softly  as  I  passed.  Some  one  had  been 
on  the  watch  for  me.  Upon  my  bed  I  found  a 
clumsily  wrapped  package.  Within  was  Roddy's 
cherished  picture — Grace  Darling  in  her  life-boat. 
Tucked  into  the  frame  was  a  folded  paper  with  these 
lines  written  in  Roddy's  big,  childish  hand: 

"MY  DEAE  HOPE: 

"Mother  and  I  are  going  away.  Except  Grace 
Darling  with  my  love.  They  will  not  let  me  say 
good-bye.  Father  will  take  care  of  you.  I  asked 
him  to. 

"Your  loving  freind, 

"L.  ROGEBS  DESPAED." 

He  had  left  out  the  d. 


286 


XXV 

Koddy's  letter  of  childish  encouragement  served, 
for  a  moment,  to  dispel  the  dread  that  had  weighted 
down  my  heart.  Mrs.  Despard  could  not  now  be 
curbed  in  her  wish  to  aid  me.  Then  came  the  bitter 
remembrance  that  Mr.  Lannion  knew  of  her  plans. 
And  what  if  the  expected  clergyman  should  arrive 
before  help  came  ?  The  carriage  that  had  taken  Mrs. 
Despard  to  the  station  might  bring  him  back.  I 
rang  for  Nanny.  I  must  know  at  once. 

But  Nanny  gave  me  her  solemn  assurance  that  no 
one  was  expected  that  night.  At  my  urgent  request 
she  went  downstairs  and  asked  Zayma,  returning 
with  the  same  answer.  No  one  was  coming  that 
night  to  Ornith  Farm.  I  had  hardly  dismissed  her 
when  she  reappeared,  this  time  the  bearer  of  a 
message  from  Mr.  Lannion.  Would  I  honor  him  by 
taking  supper  in  the  dining-room  ?  He  would  else  be 
quite  alone. 

I  was  careful  that  my  refusal  should  be  civilly 
worded.  I  did  not  wish  to  irritate  him.  In  a  few 
hours  Max  might  come!  And  with  each  hour  my 
excitement  increased.  Although  I  went  to  bed  at  the 
usual  time,  I  got  up  and  dressed  again  the  moment 
Nanny  left  me.  I  wanted  to  be  ready. 

It  was  a  very  lovely  evening.  A  breeze  had  sprung 
up  from  the  south-west.  Mingled  with  the  delicate 
fragrance  that  it  had  gathered  from  dew-wet  grasses 
and  flowers,  was  there — or  did  I  imagine  it — the 
faintest  scent  of  the  sea?  In  my  state  of  feverish 
suspense  this  almost  imperceptible  tang  of  salt  was 
as  a  message  from  distant  friends.  But  were  they 

287 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FAEM 

distant  ?  I  listened  eagerly.  Each  far-away  echo  of 
horses'  hoofs  set  my  heart  beating ;  every  gentle  sound 
of  the  night,  the  movement  of  wakeful  bird,  or  whir 
of  belated  insect,  made  me  start.  At  any  moment 
they  might  come ! 

I  knew  that  Mr.  Lannion  must  be  in  the  library, 
since  there  was  silence  on  the  veranda.  Twelve 
o'clock,  and  he  was  still  downstairs.  Then  I  lost 
count  of  the  hours,  drowsing,  in  uneasy  fashion,  in 
my  chair.  From  one  of  these  short  naps  I  was  at 
last  thoroughly  awakened  by  a  low,  yet  persistent, 
tapping  at  my  door.  Instead  of  answering  I  instinc- 
tively held  myself  very  still,  fearful  lest  an  uncon- 
scious movement  might  betray  my  wakefulness. 

"Hope,  Hope!     Are  you  awake?" 

It  was  Mr.  Lannion's  voice.  I  scarcely  dared 
breathe,  so  anxious  was  I  that  he  should  believe  me 
to  be  asleep.  I  felt  as  though  I  could  not  force  my- 
self to  answer — even  had  he  come  for  help,  even  were 
Dr.  Despard  very  ill. 

"Hope  1"  he  cried  again  softly,  "Hope !"  and  once 
more  he  tapped  gently,  but  urgently,  upon  the  panel. 

I  could  no  longer  remain  silent.  I  crept  softly  to 
my  bedside,  that  my  voice  might  come  from  the  proper 
quarter,  then  spoke. 

"Oh,  Nanny!"  I  murmured  drowsily,  fretfully, 
"do  go  away.  It's  not  time  to  get  up." 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  was  the  low-toned 
response,  "but  I  must.  Dr.  Despard  is  ill — you 
promised  to  help  me." 

In  spite  of  shame  at  my  cowardice  I  pretended 
not  to  understand.  Again  I  feigned  to  believe  that 
it  was  Nanny  who  strove  to  rouse  me. 

"No,  no,"  I  said  peevishly,  "it's  not  time.  I'm  so 
tired — do  go  away— -do  leave  me  alone !" 

Mr.  Lannion  knocked  impatiently.  "Hope, 
Hope !"  he  said,  and  he  raised  his  voice.  "You  will 

288 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

have  to  get  up.     I  need  you.     Please  hurry.     The 
doctor  has  a  bad  attack — do  you  understand  ?" 

It  was  impossible  to  affect  longer  the  stupidity  of 
one  just  aroused,  yet  I  was  unwilling  to  give  the  aid 
I  had  freely  offered  so  short  a  time  before.  I  was 
unable  to  understand  my  own  reluctance,  and,  con- 
quering it,  I  had  begun  to  say  that  I  was  awake  and 
would  come  at  once,  when  an  exclamation  from  Mr. 
Lannion  caused  me  to  stop  short. 

"You,  Luther!"  he  ejaculated  under  his  breath. 
"Why,  I  thought  you  were  sound " 

He  broke  off,  remembering,  as  it  seemed,  what  he 
had  just  said  to  me. 

"I  thought  I  would  wait  until  later  before  taking 
it,"  said  Dr.  Despard.  "I  hoped  that  I  might  sleep 
without  it.  Why  are  you  waking  Miss  Darling, 
Rollis?" 

"Dray  has  come,"  was  the  reply.  He  spoke  in  a 
whisper.  I  heard  only  because  I  had  crept  to  the  door 
to  listen. 

"What  of  that  ?"  asked  the  doctor  sharply,  making 
no  effort  to  lower  his  voice. 

"I  thought  it  had  better  be  done  at  once,"  Mr. 
Lannion  said;  "you  know  there  is  no  time  to  lose. 
It  need  not  trouble  you,  Luther.  Jasper  and  Zayma 
can  act  as " 

"Yes,  and  have  the  girl  in  hysterics,"  said  Dr. 
Despard.  "You  know  she  dislikes  them  both.  Wait 
until  morning,  Rollis.  In  the  morning " 

"No,  no,"  Mr.  Lannion  interrupted,  but  he  spoke 
in  so  low  a  tone  that  I  lost  what  he  said. 

I  crouched  down  upon  the  floor  and  placed  my  ear 
close  to  the  crack  beneath  the  door.  Dr.  Despard 
spoke  again. 

"In  the  early,  early  morning  I  shall  be  ready," 
he  said.  "Before  five — I  will  be  witness." 

There  was  silence.    Although  the  night  was  warm 
289 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

there  was  a  chill  upon  me  as  of  death.  What  was 
coming  ?  Mr.  Lannion  was  talking,  but  it  was  impos- 
sible for  me  to  catch  his  words. 

"I  will  use  your  room,  yes,  since  you  insist,"  said 
Dr.  Despard  at  last,  "and  I  will  take  something  to 
give  me  a  few  hours'  sleep.  If  I  am  not  on  hand  by 
five  you  need  not  wait  for  me,  of  course.  As  you 
say — there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

As  he  finished  speaking  I  rose  and  withdrew  from 
the  door,  for  I  knew  that  Mr.  Lannion  would  wish 
to  discover  whether  he  had  waked  me,  or  if  I  still 
slept.  I  heard  him  approach  stealthily,  and  knew 
that  he  was  listening.  I  sighed,  then  strove  to  breathe 
with  the  steady  regularity  of  one  who,  aroused  un- 
willingly, sinks  again  into  profound  slumber. 

Shortly  after  there  followed  a  subdued  commotion. 
Dr.  Despard  was  being  installed  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night  in  Mr.  Lannion's  room.  I  knew  that  the 
latter  counted  upon  the  invalid's  sleeping  late.  But 
that  did  not  matter  to  me.  Nothing  mattered,  indeed, 
for  the  end  had  come. 

I  heard  Mr.  Lannion  and  the  new  arrival  go  out 
upon  the  veranda.  Soon  the  scent  of  tobacco  floated 
upward,  and  the  sound  of  low-toned  conversation. 
I  went  to  the  table  and  felt  about  carefully  until  I 
found  my  work-basket.  From  it  I  took  a  penknife, 
a  dainty  pearl-handled  thing.  It  had  but  one  blade. 
This  was,  however,  sufficiently  sharp  for  my  purpose. 
Then,  moving  very  cautiously,  that  no  hasty  touch 
should  cause  me  in  the  dusk  to  knock  over  some 
noisy  trifle,  I  regained  my  chair  by  the  window,  and 
once  again  looked  upward  through  the  bars. 

I  felt  very  odd.  The  knowledge  of  what  I  had  to 
do  seemed  to  cloud  my  senses.  The  horror  of  it 
dulled  my  brain.  I  dared  not  think  of  heaven. 
This  last  act  of  my  life  might  bar  my  entrance  there. 
Yet  God's  justice  was  great,  His  mercy  endured  for- 

290 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

ever!  I  repeated  the  Lord's  Prayer,  but  by  rote, 
childishly,  even  stupidly.  Then,  opening  the  pen- 
knife, I  pressed  its  blade  tentatively  against  the  veins 
of  my  wrist.  At  its  touch  a  violent  shudder  shook  me 
from  head  to  foot.  I  withdrew  it  quickly.  I  must 
wait  a  moment.  I  would  count — how  much  should 
I  count  ?  I  fell  to  choosing  a  number,  idly,  foolishly. 
My  mind  was  strangely  inclined  to  turn  to,  to  play 
with,  little  things.  I  found  it  difficult  to  decide  this 
question  of  the  number  I  should  count  before  cut- 
ting  

The  clock  in  the  hall  below  began  to  strike  the  hour. 
I  tried  to  number  the  strokes  but  failed,  my  thoughts 
drifting  away  when  I  strove  to  concentrate  my  atten- 
tion upon  the  repeated  sound. 

Seven,  yes,  seven  should  be  my  number!  Seven, 
to  match  the  sevens  in  the  frieze.  I  placed  the  blade 
carefully.  One — two — three 

I  stopped  counting.  I  sat  like  a  stone.  A  hand 
had  been  thrust  through  the  bars  of  the  other  win- 
dow. Mr.  Lannion  was  below.  Had  the  rescuers 
come? 

"Hope!"  The  merest  whisper,  but  I  knew  the 
voice. 

Still  holding  the  knife  I  went  quickly  to  the 
window.  Dr.  Despard  peered  in  at  me,  his  finger  on 
his  lips.  He  was  but  half  dressed,  wearing  neither 
coat  nor  vest,  and  I  saw  that  his  feet  were  bare. 
Without  speaking  he  handed  me  a  key,  the  key  that 
unfastened  the  bars.  Closing  my  knife  I  slipped  it 
into  my  pocket,  then,  with  painstaking  care,  put  the 
key  into  the  lock,  dreading  lest  by  clumsiness  I  lose 
all.  But  the  bars  swung  open  noiselessly.  Dr.  Des- 
pard took  my  hand  and,  pointing  downward  to  sig- 
nify that  I  must  use  great  caution,  motioned  me  to 
step  out  upon  the  roof.  In  another  instant  I  stood 
beside  him — under  the  open  sky. 

291 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Although  he  was  barefoot  and  I  without  shoes,  I 
realized  that  it  would  be  more  than  difficult  to  move 
silently.  Should  the  roof  creak  even  a  little  Mr. 
Lannion  or  his  companion  must  hear  us.  Dr.  Des- 
pard, still  holding  my  hand  in  his,  began  to  make 
his  slow  way  toward  the  window  of  Mr.  Lannion's 
room.  We  kept  close,  close  to  the  wall  of  the  house, 
our  backs  almost  touching  it,  and  inch  by  inch  crawled 
toward  our  goal. 

I  thank  God  that  I  never  for  one  instant  doubted 
my  companion's  honesty  of  purpose,  that  I  trusted 
him  wholly,  entirely.  I  asked  no  questions  but,  be- 
lieving in  him,  followed  where  he  led. 

It  seemed  a  very  long  time  before  we  reached  the 
desired  window,  which  was  really  close  at  hand. 
Inside  a  light  burned  low,  making  it  easier  to  enter 
quietly.  Dr.  Despard  led  me  across  the  room  to  a 
door  on  the  opposite  side.  This  opened  upon  the 
back  staircase.  Closing  it  behind  us  we  were  in  total 
darkness,  but,  although  moving  very  slowly,  Dr. 
Despard  guided  me  downward  as  though  he  knew  his 
way  well.  We  did  not  stop  at  the  first  floor,  but 
passing  through  the  pantry,  went  on  down  the  second 
flight  to  the  basement.  I  noticed  that  these  stairs, 
like  those  we  had  just  left,  were  thickly  carpeted. 

Below,  a  faint  light  was  visible.  This  served  to 
show  the  heavily  barred  outside  door  and  the  shadow 
of  Zayma's  cat,  Ebenezer,  silhouetted  against  the  wall. 
Uttering  a  cry  of  welcome  he  slid  forward  toward 
Dr.  Despard,  then,  catching  sight  of  me,  halted, 
staring  with  dilated  yellow  eyeballs.  Evidently  dis- 
turbed by  the  creature's  wakefulness,  Dr.  Despard 
pushed  me  back  into  the  blind  staircase  and,  con- 
trolling his  labored  breathing  with  manifest  effort, 
stood  motionless,  listening.  Satisfied  after  a  moment 
that  the  cat  kept  vigils  alone,  he  drew  me  quickly  to 
the  door,  unbarred  it  with  the  noiseless  precision  of 

292 


long  practice,  and,  mounting  the  steps  of  the  area, 
moved  into  the  black  shadow  of  the  spruces.  Here 
he  stopped,  sighing  deeply.  I  thought  in  relief  that 
his  task  was  done. 

Because  of  the  darkness  through  which  we  had 
come  the  outside  world  seemed  bright,  though  lighted 
by  the  stars  only.  My  courage  had  returned.  I  felt 
eager  to  be  away.  The  night  was  waning  fast,  I 
must  hasten.  I  lifted  the  hand  that  still  held  mine 
— the  hand  that  had  freed  me — to  my  lips. 

"Thank  you,"  I  murmured.  "God  bless  you; 
good-bye !" 

But  instead  of  loosening  his  grasp  he  started  for- 
ward, as  though  to  go  with  me. 

"No,  no,"  I  whispered,  "you  must  not  come 
further.  I  am  safe  now.  You  are  ill — and  your  feet 
are  bare!" 

"I  began  life  barefoot  on  my  father's  farm,"  he 
said,  in  slow  labored  accents,  while  he  moved  steadily 
on  beside  me,  still  holding  fast  my  hand,  "and  I  will 
end  it  barefoot  here.  My  father  was  an  upright 
man — "  He  ceased  speaking.  Then  I  heard  him 
murmur  under  his  breath,  as  though  he  were  but 
thinking  aloud :  "I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father — " 
And  again,  after  a  long  silence :  "I  will  arise  and  go 
to  my  father " 

Although  alone  I  could  have  run  fleetly,  I  dared 
not  again  suggest  leaving  my  companion,  but,  suiting 
my  pace  to  his,  went  on  slowly,  slowly  across  the 
grass.  His  manner  was  so  strange  that  uncanny 
thoughts  took  possession  of  me,  dominated  me.  They 
said  to  me  that  were  this  his  atonement,  it  would  be 
ungenerous  to  lessen  it  by  continuing  my  journey 
without  his  further  help.  He  might  think  that  I 
doubted  his  ability  to  save  me.  So  desirous  did  I 
become  of  hiding  my  wish  for  haste  that  I  strove 
to  lag  behind  a  little,  that  he  might  feel  his  was 

293 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

the  greater  strength.  And  I  suffered  much;  mj 
heart  straining  at  the  leash  in  its  mad  desire  for 
speed. 

Arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  open  line  of  avenue  just 
above  the  stables,  Dr.  Despard  halted.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road  a  thicket  of  fruit-trees  offered 
a  shelter.  But  to  reach  it  one  must  cross  the  open 
space. 

"Go  over  first,"  he  commanded,  "and  wait  under 
the  trees.  Your  white  dress  may  betray  you  to 
Jasper,  who  is  now  outside  the  house  on  guard.  He 
may  be  where  he  will  spy  you.  If  he  starts  in  chase 
I  will  stop  him.  Do  you,  meanwhile,  skirt  the 
garden,  climb  the  wall,  cross  the  high-road,  and  go 
down  over  the  fields  toward  the  north-east.  A  mile 
from  the  road  is  a  farm-house.  Make  for  it.  That 
is  your  one  chance."  I  would  have  started  but  he 
detained  me.  "If  you  are  not  seen,"  he  said,  "I 
will  join  you.  Wait  for  me." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  and  flitted  across  the  road,  on  among 
the  trees.  There  I  paused,  and  gave  battle  to  an 
almost  irresistible  desire  to  fly.  The  farm-house 
was  but  a  mile  distant.  Mr.  Lannion  had  said  that 
the  nearest  dwelling  was  two  miles  away! 

The  south-west  wind  swept  through  the  tree-tops 
with  an  inspiring  rush  onward.  It  was  a  wild  night, 
although  warm,  and  filled  with  summer  scents.  And 
the  hurrying  breeze  had  infected  all  nature  with  its 
own  reckless  haste.  The  branches  above  me  swayed 
restlessly,  sighing  over  their  inability  to  follow  on 
through  the  night.  And  I,  who  had  entered  on  a 
race  for  life,  stood  trembling  with  eagerness  for  the 
starting  signal. 

From  the  direction  of  the  distant  woodland  there 
now  came  the  baying  of  dogs.  I  had  forgotten  the 
Great  Danes.  Was  the  sound  coming  nearer  ?  My 
impatience  had  become  an  anguish  when  Dr.  Despard 

294 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

joined  me,  and  without  a  word  we  continued  our 
journey.  We  rounded  the  hedged-in  garden  and 
made  our  slow  way  toward  a  part  of  the  farm  un- 
known to  me.  This  was  where  the  board  fence  on 
the  high-road  ended,  giving  place  to  a  low  stone  wall. 
Suddenly  the  doctor  stopped. 

"Hist !"  he  cautioned.     "What  was  that  ?" 

The  breeze  brought  the  sound  plainly.  Steps  upon 
the  avenue,  now  some  distance  behind  us. 

"The  dogs!"  I  said,  as  I  recognized  the  scuffling 
rush  along  the  gravel.  "They  are  playing  as  they 
run." 

We  recommenced  our  pilgrimage.  I  noticed  that 
Dr.  Despard  now  strove  to  hasten  his  pace.  Pres- 
ently we  reached  the  wall,  climbed  it,  crossed  the 
road,  and  entered  the  rough  fields  opposite.  Here 
there  were  no  trees  to  screen  our  flight.  The  land 
sloped  abruptly  downward.  Dr.  Despard,  after 
searching  carefully,  struck  into  what  seemed  a  mere 
sheep  track.  The  little  path  was  very  slippery.  I 
begged  him  to  use  my  shoulder  as  support  and,  al- 
though unwilling,  he  was  soon  obliged  to  do  so.  The 
stars  shone  down  upon  us  with  gentle  glances,  their 
brilliancy  softened  by  the  misty  atmosphere  brought 
inland  by  the  sea-breeze.  The  lichen-covered  rocks, 
upcropping  here  and  there  on  near  and  distant  hill- 
sides, took  on  odd  shapes. 

"I  shall  have  to  rest  a  moment,"  exclaimed  my 
companion  suddenly,  in  despairing  accents. 

I  found  a  seat  for  him  upon  a  neighboring  rock 
and  stood  by  him  in  silence,  pity  warring  with  my 
selfish  desire  for  haste.  At  this  moment  there  came 
from  the  road  above  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs. 
The  doctor  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"Rollis  ?"  he  gasped. 

But  the  unseen  rider  followed  the  high-road 
steadily. 

295 


"Come,"  said  Dr.  Despard,  "we  have  no  time  to 
lose!" 

"Let  me  go  on  alone,"  I  pleaded,  "and  do  you  re- 
turn to  Ornith  Farm." 

"I  cannot,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  have  betrayed  my 
friend " 

The  path  seemed  to  lengthen  out  interminably; 
but  at  last,  when  I  had  almost  lost  hope,  we  came 
suddenly  upon  an  old  farm-house  nestling  against  the 
hill.  At  the  same  instant  Dr.  Despard  stumbled 
heavily,  strove  to  regain  his  footing,  then,  in  spite 
of  my  efforts  to  support  him,  sank  to  the  ground.  His 
overtaxed  strength  had  given  way. 

I  lifted  his  head  and  fanned  him  with  my  hand- 
kerchief. 

"Go  on" — he  spoke  with  difficulty,  struggling  to 
retain  consciousness — "knock — say  that  you  are — 
Hope — "  He  sank  back,  fainting. 

I  obeyed  quickly.  A  picket  fence  shut  off  a  garden 
strip  before  the  old  gray  house.  Opening  the  little 
gate  I  ran  up  on  the  porch  and  knocked  loudly. 
No  answer.  Realizing  my  folly  in  having  chosen  the 
front  door,  I  hastened  to  the  kitchen  wing.  There, 
fetching  a  big  stone,  I  pounded  upon  the  door  with 
all  my  strength.  A  dog  in  the  barn  barked  furiously, 
and  a  light  appeared  in  one  of  the  lower  windows  of 
the  house.  I  knocked  again. 

"Help,"  I  cried.     "Oh,  help!" 

The  window  was  partly  raised,  and  a  woman's 
voice  demanded  my  name  and  what  I  wanted. 

"I  am  Hope  Carmichael,"  I  answered.  Before  I 
could  explain  further  the  window  was  shut  smartly 
and  the  light  disappeared. 

I  was  in  despair.  The  dog  at  the  barn  never 
ceased  his  warning  clamor.  Were  Mr.  Lannion  in 
pursuit  he  would  need  no  better  guide.  I  must  make 
a  second  appeal.  As  I  raised  my  hand  the  door  was 

296 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

unbarred  and  opened,  and  an  elderly  woman  ap- 
peared on  the  threshold.  She  held  a  lamp  in  her 
hand  and  wore  a  petticoat  and  shawl  over  her  night- 
gown. There  was  a  certain  dignity  about  the  short 
figure  in  spite  of  its  odd  apparel.  And  as  I  looked 
into  the  high-colored  face  I  thought  its  expression 
kind. 

"I  am  Hope  Carmichael,"  I  repeated,  with  a  catch 
in  my  throat  that  I  could  not  control — for  what  if 
she  should  send  me  away ! 

The  woman  lifted  her  lamp  high  and  subjected 
me  to  a  searching  scrutiny.  Then  extending  her  arm, 
she  caught  my  hand  and  drew  me  in,  at  the  same 
time  calling  out,  in  clear  tones  of  command: 

"Ezra,  Ezra !" 

She  placed  the  lamp  upon  the  table  and  turned  to 
lock  the  door. 

"No,  no,"  I  cried  hastily;  "there  is  some  one  ill 
outside.  Dr.  Despard  brought  me — he  has  fainted. 
Please  help  me  carry  him  in!" 

"Dr.  Despard !"  exclaimed  the  woman  in  shocked 
surprise.  "Ezra,  Ezra,  make  haste!"  And  saying 
that  she  would  get  a  blanket  she  passed  into  an  inner 
room. 

Before  she  returned  a  curly-headed  boy  of  twelve 
tumbled  unceremoniously  into  the  kitchen.  He  had 
waited  only  long  enough  to  pull  his  trousers  on  over 
his  night-shirt  before  responding  to  her  summons. 

"What's  wrong,  gran'ma?"  he  asked  as  he  burst 
in ;  but  no  sooner  did  he  catch  sight  of  me  than  he 
came  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

"Hope  Carmichael!"  he  exclaimed  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

"By  God's  grace,  yes,"  said  his  grandmother,  re- 
entering.  She  had  taken  time  to  slip  on  a  decent 
black  skirt.  Over  her  arm  she  carried  a  blanket. 
"Dr.  Despard's  outside,  Ezra,"  she  explained. 

297 


THE    PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

"Help  me  get  him  in.    Where  is  he?"     She  turned 
to  me. 

I  ran  back  to  where  I  had  left  my  companion, 
urging  those  with  me  to  haste.  When  they  heard  that 
we  feared  pursuit,  they  made  all  speed  possible.  Dr. 
Despard  lay  quite  still.  It  was  as  though  we  had 
come  for  the  dead.  The  boy  and  his  grandmother 
lifted  him  from  the  ground  and  placed  him  on  the 
blanket,  then  carried  it  hammock-wise.  I  was  told 
to  precede  them. 

"I  want  to  see  you  ahead  of  me,"  the  old  woman 
insisted  when  I  wished  to  help. 

Gaining  the  house,  Dr.  Despard  was  taken  into  the 
inner  room  and  laid  upon  a  bed.  I  stayed  behind 
to  close  and  bar  the  kitchen  door.  It  was  then  that 
I  discovered  that  my  handkerchief  was  gone.  I  had 
last  used  it  to  fan  the  sick  man.  I  searched  every- 
where upon  the  floor,  but  I  dared  not  venture  outside 
to  look  for  it.  Its  loss  worried  me. 

I  found  the  old  woman  and  her  grandson  busied 
in  the  effort  to  restore  Dr.  Despard  to  consciousness. 
It  seemed  long  before  he  responded  to  their  homely 
skill,  and  when  at  last  he  opened  his  heavy  eyes  he 
did  not  know  us.  He  looked  about  him  strangely, 
then  spoke. 

"I  will  arise — and  go  to  my  father " 

His  voice  trailed  away  into  a  murmur ;  his  eyelids 
fell.  The  old  woman  moistened  his  lips  with  a  stim- 
ulant. The  breeze,  entering  the  open  casement,  blew 
the  muslin  curtain  to  and  fro,  and  fanned  the  white 
face  upon  the  high-heaped  pillows.  He  spoke  again. 

"I  will  arise" — his  voice  was  so  very  weary — "and 
go — to  my  father " 

He  tried  to  sit  up.  The  old  woman  passed  her 
arm  around  him,  raised  him;  he  looked  about  the 
room,  saw  me,  and  remembered.  He  glanced  anx- 
iously from  the  woman  to  the  boy. 

298 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Call  Stephens,  call  your  son !"  he  commanded,  in 
feeble  but  insistent  tones. 

"David  is  away,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"You  and  Ezra ?" 

"All  the  folks  there  is,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens,  com- 
pleting his  sentence.  "But  don't  fret,  doctor,  we'll 
take  care  of  you." 

"Close  the  shutters — put  out  the  light — "  (he 
gasped  for  breath  after  each  word)  ;  "don't  give  her 

no,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens  soothingly,  while 
Ezra  drew  in  the  shutters,  and  turning  the  lamp  low 
carried  it  into  a  shaded  corner.  "She's  safe  with 
us,  poor  child!  No  one  will  think  to  look  for  her 
here." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  groaned  Dr.  Despard,  "she  does 
not  understand — "  He  struggled  to  sit  erect,  he  lifted 
his  right  hand.  "Listen — bear  witness,"  he  said. 

His  faltering  accents  proved  how  terrible  was  the 
exertion  he  made.  An  effort,  I  knew,  requiring  as 
much  moral  as  physical  force,  since  he  must  denounce 
a  friend. 

"I  am  dying,"  he  almost  whispered,  "and  I  swear 
before  God — that  this  young  girl — is  mentally  sound. 
She  is  Mary  Carmichael — she  is — Hope — "  He  fell 
back  exhausted,  but  his  eyes  still  rested  upon  my 
face. 

Mrs.  Stephens  placed  him  with  gentle  strength 
upon  his  pillows,  then  slipped  to  my  side. 

"Who's  after  you  ?"  she  asked  softly. 

"Mr.  Lannion,"  I  said. 

She  looked  incredulous,  then  scrutinized  my  face 
as  though  she  would  search  my  very  soul.  The  boy 
touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"Gran'ma,"  he  said,  "I'm  goin'  for  the  sheriff. 
I'll  ride  the  sorrel,  and  go  by  the  valley  road."  The 
woman's  troubled  face  cleared.  "I  loaned  my  gun 

299 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FAKM 

to  Jake,  and  I'm  sorry  I  did  now,"  Ezra  continued, 
"for  father's  is  pretty  old.  But  I'll  load  it  ready — 
all  the  same."  He  vanished  into  the  kitchen  as  he 
finished  speaking. 

"Ezra  has  decided  right,"  said  the  grandmother, 
looking  after  the  boy  with  a  proud  smile.  "He'll 
fetch  the  sheriff,  don't  you  be  afraid." 

"Hope!"  Dr.  Despard  called  faintly,  "Hope I" 

I  ran  to  him,  knelt  beside  the  bed,  took  his  cold 
hands  in  mine.  I  did  not  know  that  death  was  so 
near. 

"Courage,  Dr.  Despard!"  I  cried.    "The  dawn  is 
almost  here.     We  shall  soon  be  safe." 
,   I  think  that  he  did  not  hear  me. 

"Hope !"  he  said  softly,  "Hope !"  Then,  drawing 
his  hands  from  mine,  he  cried  in  an  eager  whisper: 
"I  will  arise — and  go  to  my  father.  I  will  arise — 
and  go — to  my  father." 

There  was  silence  for  a  long  moment ;  a  silence  so 
profound  that  the  steps  of  the  boy  making  his  swift 
and  almost  noiseless  preparations  in  the  adjoining 
room,  seemed  to  reecho  loudly  through  the  quiet 
house.  Suddenly  the  sick  man  sat  erect,  staring  into 
space  as  though  some  one  had  entered  whom  we  only 
could  not  see. 

"Father!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "Oh,  father!  I  am 
no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son." 

Mrs.  Stephens  caught  him  in  her  arms.  His  head 
drooped  forward  upon  his  breast. 

"God  has  taken  him,"  she  said  simply,  as  she  laid 
her  burden  down  with  reverent  care.  "He  is  dead." 


300 


XXVI 

As  I  gazed  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  into  the  quiet 
face  of  the  man  who  had  expended  his  last  strength 
in  my  service,  Ezra  spoke  from  the  doorway. 

"Gran'ma,"  he  said,  "I'm  off.  Father's  gun  is 
here  on  the  table,  loaded." 

His  grandmother  went  with  him  into  the  kitchen. 
I  felt  that  I  ought  not  to  follow,  yet  I  did  so.  Ezra, 
his  eyes  upon  me,  spoke  again  to  his  grandmother, 
too  shy  to  ask  the  question  of  me  direct. 

"Who's  huntin'  her?"  he  demanded  in  a  whisper. 

"She  says — Mr.  Lannion,"  was  the  doubtful  an- 
swer. 

The  boy  was  evidently  struck  by  the  accent  of 
partial  disbelief,  for  he  said  quickly:  "Then  don't 
let  him  in.  It  won't  do  him  no  harm  to  wait  till  the 
sheriff  comes.  Let  the  sheriff  decide.  I'll  bring  him, 
don't  you  fear."  He  nodded  encouragingly  to  me,  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  bar  of  the  door.  "Gran'ma,"  he 
said  pleadingly,  "promise  you  won't  give  her  up  to 
nobody  but  the  sheriff — promise  you  won't  let  no 
one  in !" 

"You  don't  need  to  ask  it,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens 
mildly.  "With  God's  help  we'll  both  do  our  duty." 
She  kissed  him  solemnly,  and  cautiously  drew  the 
bolt  herself.  "Don't  fret  about  gran'ma,  Ezra,"  she 
whispered ;  "if  need  be,  I'll  use  the  gun." 

I  stood  still  when  he  had  gone,  listening,  first  to 
the  dog's  glad  welcome,  then  to  the  light  sound  of  the 
sorrel's  hoofs  on  soft  turf.  Next  there  floated  up 
from  below  the  faint  thud,  thud,  that  told  me  Ezra 

301 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

was  keeping  to  the  grassy  edge  of  the  high-road,  as 
he  galloped  away. 

Going  to  the  tahle  I  took  up  the  gun  and  extin- 
guished the  candle.  Mrs.  Stephens  returned  as  I  did 
so,  carrying  the  lamp.  She  had  busied  herself  closing 
the  windows  in  the  room  occupied  by  the  dead. 

"We're  best  upstairs,"  she  whispered,  "but  we'll 
barricade  a  bit  here  first.  Can  you  shoot  ?"  she  added, 
seeing  the  gun  in  my  hands. 

"I  think  so — if  I  have  to,"  I  said. 

Laying  it  down,  I  helped  her  move  the  heavy 
kitchen  table  against  the  door.  This  done  we  passed 
into  the  narrow  hall  of  the  house.  Here  Mrs. 
Stephens  paused  to  point  toward  a  poster  fastened  on 
the  wall,  upon  which  was  a  rough  picture  and  a  full 
description  of 

THE  MISSING  MAEY  CARMICHAEL— 
CALLED    "HOPE." 

"That's  how  we  knew  you,"  she  said,  and  led  the 
way  upstairs. 

Going  into  the  little  hall  bedroom  directly  above 
the  front  door,  she  opened  the  window  and  bowed  the 
shutters,  then  put  out  the  lamp. 

"The  dawn  is  close  at  hand,"  she  said,  "and  we're 
best  without  a  light.  Do  you  peek  through  the  shut- 
ters— you're  eyes  are  young." 

The  stars  had  paled ;  the  south-west  wind  was  sink- 
ing to  rest.  The  flowers  in  the  strip  of  garden  below, 
and  the  honeysuckle  that  clambered  over  the  roof  of 
the  old-fashioned  porch,  filled  the  air  with  sweetness. 
As  I  looked  from  between  the  shutters,  straining  eyes 
and  ears  alike,  Mrs.  Stephens  began  to  talk.  She  had 
seated  herself  close  behind  me ;  she  held  the  gun  across 
her  knees. 

"I  can't  understand  about  Mr.  Lannion,"  she 
302 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

mused.    "That  bill  says  you're  held  for  money — and 
he's  a  rich  man." 

"You  won't  give  me  up  ?"  I  pleaded,  turning  from 
the  window. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  won't.  But  I'm  free  to  confess 
that  I  can't  make  it  out.  Mr.  Lannion's  a  rich  man. 
He's  been  a  good  neighbor  to  me." 

My  heart  sank.  "If  you  would  let  me  have  the 
gun?"  I  suggested  timidly.  I  longed  to  get  it  into 
my  own  hands. 

"I  wish  David  wasn't  away,"  she  said,  "and  I 
wish  Ezra  hadn't  loaned  his  gun  to  Jake.  Jake's  our 
hired  man,"  she  explained.  "He's  gone  home  for  a 
couple  of  days.  Well,  we've  got  to  do  the  best  we 
can.  ~No,  I'll  keep  the  gun.  I  could  shoot  when  I 
was  a  girl " 

"Hush !"  I  murmured. 

The  dog  at  the  barn  was  sounding  a  low  note  of 
warning.  In  the  gray  twilight  neighboring  objects 
had  become  dully  visible.  The  lichen-covered  boul- 
ders, between  which  ran  the  narrow  track  Dr.  Despard 
and  I  had  so  lately  travelled,  showed  in  separate 
masses  upon  the  hill  above  the  house.  The  dog,  silent 
for  an  instant,  now  gave  vent  to  a  gruff  bark. 

"Rover's     uneasy,"     whispered     my     companion. 
"Some  one's  round."     A  moment  of  intense  watch- 
fulness   followed.      "Perhaps    only    some    beast — 
Mrs.   Stephens  muttered  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 
"I  wish  Ezra  had  thought  to  bring  the  dog  inside; 

but  no,  if  he  had  we  couldn't  pretend  not  to  hear  in 
case » 

She  broke  off  abruptly.  Down  the  dusky  hillside 
there  slipped  two  shadows.  Rover  gave  tongue.  He 
barked  loudly,  fiercely.  The  two  men  advanced 
toward  the  house,  then  paused,  whispering  together. 

"Mr.  Lannion  and  his  man — the  Injun-darky?" 
Mrs.  Stephens  asked. 

303 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

They  had  finished  their  short  consultation.  Jasper 
disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house ;  Mr.  Lan- 
nion, opening  the  garden  gate,  came  up  on  the  porch 
and  knocked.  The  dog  barked  himself  hoarse.  Mr. 
Lannion,  hardly  waiting  for  an  answer,  knocked 
again,  this  time  very  loudly.  Mrs.  Stephens  neither 
spoke  nor  moved.  Again  Mr.  Lannion  waited  an  in- 
stant, then  knocked  unceasingly. 

"I've  got  to  answer  now,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens. 
"You  stand  aside,  and  don't  you  say  a  word."  She 
fumbled  with  the  shutters  as  if  feeling  for  their 
fastenings,  then  asked  who  was  there. 

"Mr.  Lannion,"  came  the  quick  response.  "Is 
that  Mrs.  Stephens  ?"  He  left  the  porch  as  he  spoke, 
moving  back  toward  the  gate  that  he  might  look  up 
at  the  window. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  civilly,  opening  the  shutters 
so  that  he  might  see  her,  but  not  flinging  them  wide. 
"What  brings  you  here  at  this  hour  ?" 

"My  ward,  Miss  Darling,  has  wandered  from 
home,"  was  the  answer.  "Did  she  come  here  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens  steadily. 

"The  poor  child  is  deranged,"  continued  Mr.  Lan- 
nion, "and  her  insanity  has  lately  taken  a  new  form. 
She  imagines  herself  to  be  the  Miss  Carmichael  whose 
picture  has  been  in  all  the  newspapers — the  young 
girl  who  is  supposed  to  have  been  kidnapped  because 
of  her  large  fortune.  My  poor  Aimee  resembles  her 
closely — being  slight  and  blonde.  Where  is  your 
son?" 

"David  is  away,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens.  I  thought 
that  a  note  of  anxiety  had  crept  into  her  voice. 

"Are  you  alone  in  the  house  ?"  Mr.  Lannion  asked. 

"None  of  my  family  are  at  home,"  was  the  evasive 
answer. 

"You  would  not  deceive  me,  I  am  sure,  Mrs. 
304 


THE   PRISONER   OF    ORNITH   FARM 

Stephens,"  said  Mr.  Lannion.    "You  and  I  have  been 
good  neighbors  for  two  years  now." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens,  her  voice  more 
troubled  than  before;  "I  wouldn't  willingly  deceive 
anybody." 

My  heart  sank.  Her  manner,  her  evident  distress 
of  mind,  gave  me  the  keenest  anxiety.  Added  to 
this  was  my  fear  in  regard  to  my  lost  handkerchief. 
I  had  played  too  many  games  where  clews  were  pur- 
posely dropped  not  to  realize  the  importance  of  this 
bit  of  embroidered  cambric. 

Mrs.  Stephens  drew  in  the  shutter  nearest  me  as 
if  to  indicate  that  the  interview  was  over. 

"If  you  stand  on  a  chair,"  she  whispered,  "you 
can  peek  out  of  the  slit  above."  Then  calling  "Good- 
bye, Mr.  Lannion,  good-bye,  sir !"  she  was  closing  the 
other  shutter  when  Jasper  came  swiftly  from  behind 
the  house. 

Mrs.  Stephens  sighed  as  in  relief.  From  my  van- 
tage-point I  looked  down  through  the  half-moon  cut 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  old-fashioned  shutter  upon 
the  strip  of  fenced-in  garden  and,  outside  its  open 
gate,  the  two  men.  Mr.  Lannion  had  turned  away 
convinced  apparently  that  his  quarry  had  flown 
farther,  when  Jasper  ran  up.  The  man  said  nothing, 
but  in  his  usual  stolid  manner  held  out  my  missing 
handkerchief.  Mr.  Lannion,  uttering  an  exclamation 
of  delight,  caught  it  from  him  and  reentered  the  gate. 
I  moaned  involuntarily. 

"Humph !"  muttered  my  companion ;  "I  mistrusted 
that  Injun  was  up  to  some  mischief — conjurin'  be- 
hind backs  where  he  couldn't  be  seen.  Well" — again 
she  sighed  in  relief — "it's  somethin'  to  know  the 
worst,  anyway!" 

Mr.  Lannion  stood  still  and  held  up  the  handker- 
chief. He  was  just  beyond  the  porch,  where  he  could 
command  the  window. 

305 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OKNITH   FARM 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Stephens!"  he  spoke  quietly. 
"This  is  proof  positive  that  my  ward  is  in  your  house. 
I  don't  blame  you  for  believing  the  poor  child's  story, 
but  I  must  beg  you  to  let  me  see  her  at  once.  Please 
come  down  and  open  the  door." 

"I  believe  in  law  and  order,  Mr.  Lannion,"  said 
Mrs.  Stephens  mildly.  "Do  you  go  home  and  wait 
till  daytime.  Then  fetch  a  couple  of  doctors  to  show 
the  young  lady  is  insane,  and  lawyers  to  prove  your 
right  as  guardian,  and  I'll  give  her  up  fast  enough." 

Mr.  Lannion  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  went  to 
Jasper,  who  was  waiting  outside,  and  gave  him  some 
order.  The  man  again  betook  himself  to  the  back  of 
the  house.  Mr.  Lannion  returned  to  his  former  post. 

"I  hoped  for  a  kinder  welcome,  Mrs.  Stephens," 
he  said  reproachfully.  "You  were  glad  enough  to 
see  me  when  I  brought  Dr.  Despard  to  your  daughter- 
in-law's  sick-bed  last  winter.  I  came  in  the  small 
hours  then,  but  you  made  haste  to  let  me  in." 

(It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  talking  against  time. 
What  task  had  been  set  Jasper?  I  slipped  down 
from  my  chair  and  out  into  the  dark  hall.) 

"How  is  the  doctor — why  didn't  you  bring  him  this 
time  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Stephens,  in  tones  so  calmly  con- 
versational that  I  marvelled  at  her  self-control. 

"He  is  ill,"  was  the  answer.  "He  suggested  the 
chance  of  my  finding  our  lost  lamb  here,  and  took 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  you  would  shelter  her. 
If  he  were  with  me  he  would  convince  you  of  the 
truth  of  my  statement.  You  would  believe  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Stephens;  "I  believe  him." 

"Then  you  will  let  me  in?"  cried  Mr.  Lannion. 
"I  knew  that  you  would  hear  reason  at  last !" 

There  came  from  below  an  odd  sound,  a  soft 
tinkle,  as  of  the  falling  of  glass.  I  moved  into  the 
bedroom  and  shut  the  door.  I  knew  that  Mrs. 
Stephens  heard  me,  although  she  did  not  turn  her 

306 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNTTH   FARM 

head,  for  she  said,  as  though  yielding  to  Mr.  Lan- 
nion's  insistence: 

"Well,  just  wait  where  you  are  a  minute,  Mr.  Lan- 
nion," and  closing  the  shutter  came  quickly  to  my 
side.  "The  Injun?"  she  questioned. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "he  is  breaking  in." 

She  locked  the  door  and,  with  my  help,  pushed  a 
heavy  clothes-press  against  it.  Returning  to  the 
window  she  again  opened  one  shutter  and  reseated 
herself,  the  gun  across  her  knees.  I  resumed  my 
former  position.  Mr.  Lannion  had  not  stirred.  He 
looked  up  now  in  astonishment. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Stephens !"  he  exclaimed,  "I  thought 
you  were  going  to  let  me  in!  I  had  even  begun  to 
hope  that  you  would  treat  me  to  some  of  your  deli- 
cious home-made  cake.  This  is  the  hungriest  hour 
of  the  twenty-four.  Come,  Mrs.  Stephens" — he  still 
spoke  with  affected  bonhomie — "don't  serve  a  neigh- 
bor so  unkindly!" 

"Your  Injun  can  help  you  to  my  best,"  said  Mrs. 
Stephens  sternly.  "  'Tis  you  sent  him  to  enter  in — 
a  thief  in  the  night.  As  for  pies  and  cake,  God 
knows  I  love  to  give  them  to  folks,  yet  when  He  wills 
that  I  give  instead  bitter  medicine,  He  steadies  my 
hand — even  as  I  have  faith  that  He  will  strengthen 
it  in  case  of  need.  Don't  come  a  step  nearer,  Mr. 
Lannion !  This  porch  could  be  easy  climbed,  I  know, 
but  you  stay  where  you  are."  As  she  ceased  speaking 
she  lifted  the  gun,  resting  its  muzzle  on  the  sill. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lannion,  stepping  back; 
"you  would  shoot  me,  Mrs.  Stephens  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  steady  answer,  "if  obliged  to, 
so  make  no  mistake.  Dr.  Despard  brought  Hope  Car- 
michael  here;  with  his  last  breath  he  bore  witness. 
He  lies  dead  downstairs." 

I  saw  Mr.  Lannion  start  violently.  "That  is  a 
lie!"  he  said. 

307 


THE    PRISONER    OF    OBNITH   FARM 

The  knob  of  the  door  was  suddenly  tried  by  a  strong 
hand.  Jasper  had  made  his  stealthy  way  upstairs. 
Mrs.  Stephens  heard  him. 

"All  of  my  house  save  this  one  room,"  she  said, 
"is  now  open  to  you.  Since  you  doubt  my  word,  enter, 
and  disprove  it."  Mr.  Lannion  did  not  move.  "You 
tell  me  that  Dr.  Despard  lies  ill  at  home,"  continued 
Mrs.  Stephens,  in  her  clear,  firm  voice.  "I  say  to 
you  that  he  came  here,  giving  up  his  life  to  bring 
this  poor  child  into  safety.  Forget  not  the  words  of 
our  Lord :  'Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that 
a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.' ' 

A  soft  pink  flush  stole  across  the  cold  gray  of  the 
landscape.  From  the  south  came  the  faint  sound  of 
a  bell. 

"The  court-house  bell!"  breathed  Mrs.  Stephens. 
"Ezra's  there  safe.  O  Almighty  God,  grant  that  we 
may  endure  till  help  comes!" 

Jasper  thrust  his  dark  head  from  the  window  of 
the  room  adjoining. 

"Door's  locked,"  he  said  laconically. 

"Get  an  axe  and  break  it  down,"  was  the  brief 
order. 

Save  for  the  hoarse  barking  of  the  half -crazed  dog 
in  the  barn,  and  the  now  unceasing  note  of  encourage- 
ment from  the  distant  town,  there  was  silence.  Mr. 
Lannion  did  not  speak  until  the  crash  of  the  axe  told 
him  that  Jasper  was  at  work. 

"I  am  sorry  to  use  force,  Mrs.  Stephens,"  he  said, 
"but  you  drive  me  to  it.  Aimee !"  I  did  not  answer. 
"I  know  that  you  are  there,"  he  went  on,  an  accent 
of  anxiety  in  his  voice.  "See  that  you  stand  well 
aside  when  the  door  gives."  I  remained  silent. 
"Mrs.  Stephens" — he  spoke  with  sudden  sharpness — 
"for  the  last  time,  will  you  give  up  my  ward  ?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

He  ran  toward  the  low  porch.    Mrs.  Stephens  fired. 

801 


THE   PRISONER   OF   ORNITH   FARM 

But  she  had  aimed  poorly,  and,  although  the  shot 
scattered  wide,  Mr.  Lannion  was  not  touched.  His 
harsh  laugh  told  me  that  this  dash  forward  had  been 
but  a  ruse  de  guerre  to  empty  the  gun.  The  clumsy 
weapon  had  kicked  badly,  striking  Mrs.  Stevens  and 
hurting  her.  I  caught  it  from  her  quickly. 

"For  God's  sake  put  that  down!"  cried  Mr.  Lan- 
nion, as,  leaning  from  the  window,  I  took  careful 
aim.  "It  may  burst  and  kill  you.  Put  it  down, 
Aimee !" 

He  spoke  with  his  customary  imperiousness.  It 
was  as  if  he  failed  to  realize  the  condition  of  things. 
I  dared  not  take  my  eyes  from  his  face.  There  was 
but  one  charge  left  in  the  gun.  I  must  shoot  at  close 
range.  But  if  Jasper  got  in  before  help  came,  he 
would  wrest  the  weapon  from  me.  I  strained  my  ears 
for  the  sound  of  approaching  hoof-beats.  I  heard 
but  the  court-house  bell. 

Mr.  Lannion  came  a  step  nearer. 

"Stop!"  I  cried. 

"Nonsense,  child,"  he  said,  smiling,  but  he  stood 
still.  "Come" — he  spoke  coaxingly,  tenderly — "put 
down  that  clumsy  thing  and  let's  be  friends  again! 
I  swear  I  won't  harass  or  worry  you  in  any  way,  if 
you'll  only  make  it  up  with  me,  if  you'll  only  come 
home." 

I  heard  the  door  crash  splintering  in;  I  saw  Mr. 
Lannion  run  hastily  forward;  I  pulled  the  trigger. 
No  report  followed.  The  gun  had  missed  fire. 

Then,  desperate,  I  leaned  far  from  the  window 
and  cried  for  help — cried  shrilly,  detenninately, 
wildly.  The  rocky  hillside  gave  back  the  sound,  and 
from  the  distance  came  the  steady,  urgent  note  of  the 
court-house  bell. 

I  heard  Mr.  Lannion  commanding  me  to  be  quiet. 
I  saw  him  start  on  a  run  toward  the  back  of  the 
house.  I  knew  that  he  would  be  in  the  room  in  an- 

309 


THE   PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

other  instant,  and  I  knew  also  that  behind  me  stood 
Jasper,  ready  to  catch  and  hold  me  should  I  attempt 
to  fling  myself  from  the  window  before  his  master 
came.  And  all  the  time  I  never  once  ceased  in  my 
frantic  appeal  for  aid. 

The  sun,  rising  grandly,  now  flooded  all  the  world 
with  light,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Lannion  halt  as  he  reached 
the  corner  of  the  house.  Then  my  voice  died  sud- 
denly— its  strength  failed.  For  pouring  down  over 
the  steep  hillside  came  a  little  troop  of  horsemen. 
They  rode  at  break-neck  speed,  each  man  apparently 
actuated  by  but  one  desire,  to  reach  the  farm  in 
time. 

Mr.  Lannion  stood  quite  still,  staring  at  two  men, 
who,  distancing  the  others,  now  rode  first.  One  of 
them  reined  up  his  horse  so  soon  as  he  came  within 
speaking  distance. 

"Game's  up,  Lannion!"  he  cried.  "Better  sur- 
render quietly." 

The  other  rider  came  straight  on.  The  sun  lighted 
up  his  firm  figure,  irradiated  his  eager,  clear-cut 
face.  I  forgot  Mr.  Lannion,  forgot  his  threat.  I 
leaned  far,  far  from  the  window;  I  held  out  my 
arms. 

"Max!"  I  cried.     "Oh,  Max!" 

Mr.  Lannion  sprang  forward,  raised  his  revolver, 
fired. 

The  knowledge  of  what  I  had  done  closed  down 
upon  my  senses  like  a  pall,  dulling  them,  blinding 
my  vision.  And  it  was  as  if  that  one  report  would 
reverberate  forever  in  my  ears!  I  tried  to  shut  it 
out,  but  the  effort  was  beyond  me.  And  for  a  time 
I  did  not  know  where  I  was  nor  what  had  befallen 
me.  All  was  a  blank. 

When  my  mind  awoke  I  was  upon  a  lounge  drawn 
close  to  an  open  window.  From  below  rose  the  scent 

310 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

of  crushed  flowers  and  the  hushed  murmur  of  many 
voices.  Beside  me  knelt  Max. 

Max  owed  his  escape  to  his  fine  horsemanship. 
He  had  swung  himself  Indian  fashion  from  the  sad- 
dle as  Mr.  Lannion  fired,  and  the  bullet  passed  harm- 
lessly above  him.  And  I  had  in  reality  heard  many 
shots.  The  sheriff,  seeing  Mr.  Lannion  about  to  fire 
again,  had  acted  quickly.  The  men  with  him,  over- 
excited, followed  his  lead.  Mr.  Lannion  had  fallen, 
riddled  with  bullets — dying  as  dies  a  hunted  wild 
beast. 

The  hum  outside  grew  louder.  Mrs.  Stephens,  who 
had  left  us  alone  together  directly  I  recovered  con- 
sciousness, now  returned,  bringing  a  glass  of  fresh 
milk.  She  beamed  upon  us  as  Max  held  it  to  my 
lips. 

"There's  a  crowd  here !"  she  said  proudly  to  Max. 
"The  whole  countryside  will  be  comin'  soon,  I  guess, 
to  have  a  look  at  your  Miss  Hope  Carmichael.  She's 
been  our  Hope  Carmichael,  too,"  she  added,  with  a 
sudden  break  in  her  voice,  a  suspicious  moisture  dim- 
ming her  kind  eyes,  "ever  since  we  read  her  story  in 
the  newspapers.  Do  you  think  you  could  just  peek 
out  a  minute  at  'em,  dear  ?"  she  asked,  turning  to  me. 
"They're  about  crazy  to  see  you." 

Max  lifted  me  in  his  strong  arms  that  I  might 
look  from  the  window — and  it  seemed  to  me  that  there 
were  people  everywhere.  When  they  caught  sight  of 
me  there  came  an  odd  hush,  followed  by  a  chorus 
of  kindly  greeting  that  I  shall  never  forget.  I  waved 
my  hand,  I  tried  to  thank  them,  I  could  not — my 
heart  was  too  full.  So  Max  spoke  for  me. 

They  cheered  him  when  he  ceased  speaking.  Then 
they  cheered  me  and,  being  now  in  the  spirit  for 
jubilant  demonstration,  cheered  for  Mrs.  Stephens 
and  her  plucky  grandson,  Ezra.  In  the  midst  of  the 
noise  a  carriage  was  seen  to  turn  in  from  the  road 

311 


THE   PRISONER   OF   OKNTTH   FARM 

below.  Some  word  was  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth  and  the  horses  that  drew  the  vehicle  had 
little  to  do,  for  a  crowd  of  men  pushed  it  upward 
by  main  force.  I  felt  Max's  arms  tighten  around  me. 
I  looked  on  in  wondering  interest  while  a  dozen 
friendly  hands  tore  open  the  carriage  door  and  helped 
a  woman  to  alight.  I  saw  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
middle  age,  a  squarely  built  woman  whose  hair  was 
strained  tightly  back  from  strongly  marked  features. 
I  broke  away  from  Max,  I  descended  the  stairs  in 
one  rush,  I  was  out  in  the  world  of  sunshine  and 
flowers  and  upon  the  bosom  of  my  Katie,  who  had 
come  to  take  me  home. 

"  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 

A  woman's  clear  voice  rose  on  the  sweet  morning 
air.  Another  moment  and  all  joined  in.  Presently 
I,  too,  was  singing,  pouring  out  my  whole  soul  in 
thankfulness  to  God. 


312 


XXVII 

"Hope  Carmichael  is  at 

Ornith  Farm 
Westchester  County 

New  York 
come  for  her  quick 

A  freind" 

i 

So  ran  the  note  that  my  dear  Roddy  contrived  to 
post  to  Max.  How  the  child  managed  this  I  do  not 
know.  I  have  never  alluded  to  it  because  of  what 
the  detectives  found  when  they  searched  Ornith 
Farm.  The  "outfit"  of  which  Mr.  Lannion  had 
spoken  in  such  pride  was  one  for  the  making  of 
counterfeit  money.  This  was  the  business  in  which 
he  had  been  successfully  engaged  for  some  years. 
Dr.  Despard,  Tom  King,  and  a  few  others  were  his 
associates. 

The  suspicions  of  the  police  had  been  for  some 
time  circling  about  Mr.  Lannion.  And  although 
Roddy's  communication  was  thought  by  them  value- 
less in  regard  to  my  case — many  such  having  already 
led  them  to  mare's-nests — it  gave  them  the  long 
desired  opportunity  of  visiting  Ornith  Farm. 

To  Katie,  however,  the  childish  letter  had  rung 
true,  and  Max  had  needed  no  urging  to  make  him 
follow  any  clew  offered.  So  when  Ezra  started  on 
his  journey  to  the  town  by  the  valley  road,  Max,  with 
the  sheriff  and  his  posse,  were  travelling  up  the  hills 
toward  Ornith  Farm.  Here  Nanny,  her  fear  of  the 
law  greater  even  than  her  dread  of  Zayma,  had  told 
them  of  my  flight  and  Mr.  Lannion's  pursuit. 

313 


THE    PRISONER    OF    ORNITH   FARM 

The  news  of  my  being  at  the  Stephens'  had  spread 
like  wild-fire,  and  my  story  had  long  since  touched 
the  warm  heart  of  the  people.  Max  and  I  will  never 
forget  the  sympathy  shown  us  at  this  supreme  moment 
of  our  lives. 

We  have  had  the  great  happiness  of  seeing  Roddy 
grow  into  a  wise  and  useful  man.  We  sent  him  to 
school  and  to  college,  and  later  gave  him  a  few  years 
of  study  in  Europe.  He  now  holds  a  professorship 
in  one  of  our  finest  universities.  He  is  always  with 
us  in  the  summers,  and  will,  we  hope,  consider  our 
home  his  own  until  he  chooses  to  marry. 

Mrs.  Despard  changed  her  name  a  year  after  her 
husband's  death,  marrying  a  former  playmate,  who 
had  become  a  person  of  importance  in  the  neighboring 
town.  She  was  well  pleased  to  transfer  to  us  the 
guardianship  of  her  son,  and  even  consented  to  his 
dropping  the  d  from  his  middle  name. 

Once  a  year,  in  mid-July,  there  comes  to  me  a  gift 
of  flowers.  With  them  is  always  a  slip  of  paper 
bearing  these  printed  words: 

Wherever  she  set  her  blessed  foot,  there  was  at  once  a 
dewy  flower.    The  violets  gushed  up  along  the  wayside. 

I  know  that  it  is  Tom  King  who  thus  remembers 
me,  and  I  like  to  believe  that  he  has  found  peace  in 
leading  an  upright  life,  with  Mother  Earth  as  teacher 
and  consoler. 

I  am  a  very  happy  woman.  So  happy,  indeed, 
that  at  times  I  feel  afraid,  having  known  sudden 
shipwreck.  And  because  of  the  seeds  of  evil — the 
Pomegranate  Seeds  of  Ornith  Farm — the  world  can 
never  again  be  quite  the  same  to  me.  If  Proserpina 
paid  heavily  for  the  six  pomegranate  seeds  that 
passed  her  lips,  I,  too,  pay  for  the  six  weeks  spent 
in  captivity.  The  knowledge  I  then  learned  of  life's 
shadows  must  ever  remain  to  dim  its  sunshine. 

314 


And  my  poor  Katie  suffers  too. 

"The  Lord's  Prayer  has  grown  hard  to  me,  thin !" 
she  sadly  complains  at  times.  'Tor  howiver  am  I 
to  win  forgeeveness  for  me  own  sins  when  I  canna 
forgie  the  sins  o'  ithers?  Sure  it's  fire  an'  breem- 
stone  I'm  wishin'  for  that  villain,  an'  no  mistake! 
Yet  God  saw  till't  that  he  had  an  awf  u'  hell  on  earth ! 
You  so  near  hand — in  his  very  house — yet  far  off 
as  heaven.  'Fore  God,  I'm  a  wicked  woman,  thin, 
for  if  I  get  to  heavin  an'  see  that  man  forninst  me, 
I'll  awa  down  to  hell!  But  I'm  thinkin'  the  old 
wolf-hound  will  niver  let  him  troo  heav'n's  gates. 
Hope,  my  bairn,  can  you  forgie  him  ?" 

At  last,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  I  am  able  to 
answer — "Yes. " 


315 


By     FRANCES     POWELL 

THE  HOUSE 
ON   THE   HUDSON 

xamo,    $1.50 


"There  la  good  characterization  in  this  book.  Miss 
Powell  has  a  true  sense  of  drama.  Her  situations  are 
never  spasmodic  in  character.  They  gain  in  excitement 
and  force  as  the  story  proceeds  and  effectively  lead  up  to 
a  startling  climax." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  interest  is  absorbing.  .  .  .  Frances  Powell 
is  clever,  and  she  has  written  a  briskly  entertaining  book 
with  much  imaginative  force." — The  Literary  Digest. 

"It  belongs  to  the  'one  more  chapter  and  I'll  come 
to  bed  '  school,  and  has  more  claims  to  merit  than  most 
of  its  class." — Life. 

"  It  is  capital  reading,  not  a  bit  the  kind  to  go  to 
sleep  over." — Boston  Courier. 

"Since  the  'House  on  the  Marsh'  there  has  not 
been  another  story  which  so  skillfully  and  potently  ex- 
cites the  curiosity  and  interest  of  the  reader. ' ' 

—  Washington  Post. 

"Interesting  and  fascinating." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

**  Nothing  if  not  interesting." — Chicago  Daily  News. 

"A  capital  tale  of  mystery." 

— New  York  Evening  Mail. 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York 


BY      FRANCES      POWELL 


THE  BY-WAYS 
OF  BRAITHE 

lamo.     $1.50 

"  Acts  like  an  appetizer  to  tired  nerves." 

— Boston  Herald. 

"  A  clever  tale  of  mystery  and  crime  . . .  handled 
with  that  feeling  for  things  eerie  and  unexpected 
which  is  perhaps  Miss  Powell's  most  salient  gift." 

— New  York  Tribune. 

"  Another  clever  and  thoughtful  book.  For  its 
interest  and  charm,  which  are  undeniable,  it  depends 
largely  on  its  atmosphere.  .  .  It  is  a  well-constructed 
and  readable  tale." — The  London  Atheneum. 

"  A  breathlessly  exciting  story." 

— New  York  Times  Review. 

"  A  genuine  triumph.  ...  A  remarkable  and  en- 
thralling story.  From  the  first  page  the  fateful 
character  of  the  story  takes  hold  of  the  reader." 

— Chicago  Tribune. 

"  The  number  of  notably  portrayed  figures,  the 
romantic  charm  of  the  love  interest,  the  alluring 
atmosphere  of  mystery  which  invests  the  scenes  and 
characters,  combine  to  make  a  novel  to  be  remem- 
bered."— Nashville  American. 


Charles  Scribner's   Sons,   New  York 


000119844     9 


